Powerful Warriors
by Appletree5
Summary: The two most powerful warriors are patience and time - Leo Tolstoy. Face knows he's on the jazz but he can't help feeling nervous. It happens every time. There's always the possibility that this is the one that goes wrong but this time there's more at stake than just running the bad guys out of town.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Face flexes his hand, shaking out the cramp that's building in his muscles. He resights the rifle and peers down its length, focusing on his target so intently everything else fades into obscurity. He ignores the dampness of the ground soaking into his worn fatigues, concentrating only on the tableau presenting itself in the clearing below.

His finger tightens on the trigger, not enough to take the shot but enough to convince himself and his team that he's prepared to follow through. It's a long time since he's killed someone but he's always known the capacity is still there, hidden in the recess of his personality. No one walked away from Vietnam unscathed.

As his periphery vision fades to nothing, trusting his team to protect him, to keep him safe while he carries out his mission, his mind wanders back to another time, another place. The chill in the autumn air is the only reminder he's fighting a different war now. But the object? That's the same as it was all those years ago. Then he was a boy, fighting a man's war. Now he's a man, fighting a boy's war.

He hears a twig snap behind him but he doesn't turn.

"Getting careless, Colonel," he mutters. "I could've killed you, y'know?"

"No you wouldn't." Hannibal's confident reply floats through the still air and Face smiles inwardly. Of course the man's right. He wouldn't have shot him, anymore than he would shoot the man slipping through the undergrowth on the edge of the clearing.

"Situation?" the Colonel demands.

"Same as," he reports. "We've been here over an hour now, Colonel. When are we going to make our move?"

He can feel Hannibal shrug as the silence draws out between them. Eventually John Smith drops to his haunches next to Face's shoulder and sighs.

"As soon as we know he's still alive, Lieutenant, as soon as we know."

There's not a lot to say to that and Face settles back down to wait for however long it takes.

In the end it doesn't take very long at all. He spots movement in the trees to the north of the clearing about fifteen minutes later. Hannibal is by his side quicker than many men half his age would have made it.

"Face?" he queries, scanning the area.

"Two of them in the trees, three o'clock, another two over to the left, eleven o'clock."

"Where's BA?"

"Just where he's meant to be." Face smiles grimly as he watches the sergeant sliding silently through the undergrowth. He almost feels sorry for their adversaries but then he remembers why they're here and any sympathy dissipates instantly.

"Relax, Kid," Smith says, and Face realises his finger has tightened on the trigger and that he's stopped breathing.

Down below them the trees are rustling and there's clearly no effort being made to conceal the presence of the four men they've come for. In a flurry of movement all four break through the cover of the woodland at the same time, rifles of their own sweeping the area. Face watches BA, fascinated as always by his ability to fade into the background in an instant.

"Now, Colonel?" he asks, as the man nearest him raises a radio to his mouth, communicating with someone still hidden, maybe miles from here.

"Nearly, Kid, nearly."

Then a voice rings out, cruel and cold. It's a voice that demands attention and obedience.

"Colonel Smith. I know you're here so why don't you show yourself?"

Face has the man in his sights, the crosshair resting square on his forehead. He can take him out without even thinking about it. He waits though.

Hannibal pats him on the shoulder and steps away from him. Face knows he's on the jazz but he can't help feeling nervous. It happens every time. There's always the possibility that this is the one that goes wrong but this time there's more at stake than just running the bad guys out of town. This time there's Murdock to consider.

* * *

Hannibal Smith strides confidently through the woodland towards the clearing, sure in the knowledge that his team will keep him safe. There are four men that they can see but they all know there are at least two more somewhere close. He doesn't try to hide his approach and as he takes the last couple of steps he takes a cigar out of his pocket, biting the top off as he locks eyes with the leader of the group already in the clearing.

"Where's my man?" he asks, direct and to the point.

"He's around," the reply comes. "Where's my money?"

"It's around," Hannibal echoes, lighting his cigar and giving the impression of being in no rush. He turns on the spot, slowly, taking in everyone's position, his team and theirs. BA is exactly where he wants him and Hannibal is sure nobody other than himself and Face even knows he's there. The man is a veritable chameleon, a talent honed to perfection on the streets of Chicago and jungles of Vietnam.

"It seems we have a problem," he drawls as he eventually turns back to the man in charge. "You have something I want and I have something you want but neither of us seem to have it here.

"You can have your man as soon as I see my money," the reply comes.

"You can have your money as soon as I see my man," Hannibal echoes once again but this time there's steel in his eyes and his voice is hard. He takes a step forward, gratified to see it's induced a step back from his opponent. "Don't think this is going to end well for you. I have men ready to take you down the second I tell them. Don't be fooled into thinking you can fight us because believe me, we've seen and done things you could only imagine in your worst nightmares. So I'll ask you one more time: where is my man?"

* * *

BA peers round the trunk of the tree he's using for cover. He can see the change in Hannibal's posture and just knows the corner is about to be turned. There's a distinct lack of Murdock and that worries him more than anyone will ever know.

He looks back to where Face is concealed and only his years of experience allow him to pick out a slight indent in the shrub where the lieutenant is positioned. BA knows between them they could end this now in less than a minute but that would mean bloodshed and, despite appearances, he tends to a more passive approach these days. He's seen enough death and destruction to last him a lifetime. If it comes to though, he can and will wreak havoc.

Movement in the trees catches his attention and he can see that Hannibal has also seen it. The Colonel is still standing straight and BA can see his muscles are coiled and ready to spring. He knows Face will have seen all of this too.

Suddenly Murdock falls through the trees into the clearing, landing on his knees, head down so BA can't see his face. He can see the bound hands though that the pilot has on the ground to balance himself and BA's blood is boiling now. He's beginning to think bloodshed is now inevitable because no-one, _no-one_ , hurts his fool and expects to get away with it.

There are two more men behind Murdock and they're making quite a show of holding two pistols on the man at their feet. BA can't hear any voices from where he is but he can see Hannibal's mouth moving and he watches the man's hands for any signal, one they agreed earlier, one from another time, or an improvised one with the unspoken knowledge BA and Face would just understand instinctually.

It feels like forever but is probably only a matter of minutes and then Hannibal's moving backwards, not taking his eyes off the leader and not relaxing his stance. BA doesn't know what's been said but he readies himself regardless, knowing that Face is doing the same somewhere up above him.

And then there it is – that one tiny movement of Hannibal's hand, a miniscule flick of one gloved hand. BA surges to his feet, erupting from the tree line, gun held steady as he charges into the clearing. He takes a grim satisfaction in the look of surprised shock on the faces of Murdock's two captors, only surpassed by the look on their leader's face as Face fires off a warning shot, the ground at his feet exploding in a whirlwind of mud and grass.

Things happen very quickly from thereon in. BA's focus is on Murdock, still on his knees, head still down, no reaction or movement of any kind. BA is gratified when one of their guns flies out the man's hand, one of Face's bullets grazing his wrist. The man spins round, knocked off balance by the impact. BA is on his companion in seconds.

He can hear the fight around him, he knows Hannibal is taking care of business with the leader – the sound of fists on flesh is all too familiar, and he's content that Face's gunmanship is dealing with the remaining members of the gang. He doesn't think Face has inflicted any mortal wounds but he doesn't really care.

He grips the only gun still in play, the one threatening his pilot, in one large hand while the other curls into a fist and smashes into the nose of the holder. The resulting crunch and cry of pain is satisfying beyond belief and as the gun falls to the ground, he follows the punch by interlocking his hands and hammering down on the man's head. He falls to the ground, senseless and no longer a threat to anyone.

The fight is short and sweet. BA can hear Hannibal laughing grimly and Face crashing through the undergrowth to join them.

But Murdock still hasn't moved.

* * *

Things are a little fuzzy round the edges but things often are for Murdock. He can feel the ground beneath his knees, the sharp stones digging in to his flesh, and where his hands are keeping him balanced he can feel the dampness of the earth beneath. He wonders if this would be a good time to open his eyes. But there's safety in not knowing what's out there. After all, he thinks, it could be the woods in Colorado, which he vaguely remembers, or it could be the jungles of Vietnam. He can't go back to Vietnam so he keeps his eyes shut just in case.

There are noises around him, some he recognises, some he thinks he should recognise and others he just can't place. He can hear gunfire and that's when he decides to find his safe place, his happy place. He used to go there a lot, back in the day. It's warm and soft and Billy is there, always playing with his tail wagging. When he's there he never wants to leave.

The noises around him fade away until there's nothing but silence and Billy. He wants to get up, to run around with his dog, find a stick and play catch till the end of the day but something is stopping him. So he runs around in his mind instead and slowly a smile finds its way on to his face.

Then there's a hand on his shoulder and he's ripped away from his safe place in a matter of seconds. His body tenses, ready for the next assault. Then there are voices he knows. He thinks that may be Face and BA, Colonel Smith in the background. Maybe he is still in Vietnam he thinks and he shrinks back from the touch ever so slightly just in case.

"Murdock?" The voice is soft, softer than it should be and Murdock's confused. BA is a big, gruff man. Why is he using that tone with him? He only does that when someone's dying. Maybe _he's_ dying? Maybe he should ask someone.

He opens his mouth to ask but nothing but a croak comes out and for some reason he finds that hysterically funny. His mirth manifests itself as a shuddering exhalation, more of a huff than a laugh but it courses through his body and before he can control it his shoulders are shaking and he feels the hand gripping him tighten.

Then there's a hand on his face, leather on skin, and he lifts his head and tries really hard to open his eyes.

"Report, Captain." Hannibal's voice is gently forceful and Murdock squints up into the face connected to the hand. He frowns as he tries to remember where he is.

"Um…" he replies, sways on his knees and passes out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Face watches with poorly concealed panic as Murdock falls forward. He's made swift work of securing their assailants and is turning back to his comrades as the pilot takes his dive. Hannibal and BA are there to make sure he doesn't fall face first onto the unforgiving ground, lowering him gently to the floor.

"Hannibal?" he asks, his voice coloured with worry.

He watches Hannibal frown as he takes off a glove to feel Murdock's forehead. BA has already turned the man on his side, slicing through the rope that ties his hands together.

"Hannibal?" Face repeats, stepping towards the trio, ignoring the fallen men at his feet.

Hannibal glances up at his lieutenant. "Fever's setting in," he says grimly. "We need to move."

He looks to BA who nods and picks Murdock up like a child with the gentleness of a father. Face watches as Murdock's head falls back and BA adjusts his grip so his arm cradles the injured man.

Hannibal turns back to Face and their eyes meet. No words are needed but Face has to fill the silence somehow.

"I'll get the van," he says and pushes past his comrades, reaching out to touch Murdock's arm briefly.

The van is only a few hundred meters from the clearing but BA concealed it well with tree branches and shrubs. Subconsciously he's watching the shadows and bushes for any sign of danger and it takes Face longer than he'd like to uncover it. He knows he's running on adrenaline and as he pulls the last branch carefully from the roof of BA's prized possession he wonders how long he can keep this up.

The snap of a twig has him spinning round, gun already in his hand ready to fire if necessary. But it's only Hannibal clearing the way for BA.

"Forgot the keys, kid," he chastises gently and it takes Face a few seconds to register that he's not in any danger and that he'd forgotten something so fundamental in his rush to get Murdock to safety.

"Van's good to go," he mutters, waving his hand at the debris on the ground, hoping Hannibal hears the unspoken apology.

Hannibal nods. "Good job," he acknowledges and Face relaxes a little as the colonel slides the door open for BA to maneuver their pilot into a semi comfortable position before settling into the driver's seat.

* * *

BA drives as quickly as he can on the dirt track road, overwhelmingly conscious of the state of his passenger. They've got a hideout already so that's one less thing to worry about but he's not sure what medical supplies are there. He knows Face can get them anything they need but he doesn't know how badly Murdock is hurt or even where he's injured. All he knows is that his little brother needs their help more than ever and woe betide anyone or anything that gets in his way.

There's noise from the back of the van where Hannibal and Face are huddled over the pilot and BA can't make out what they're saying. He knows the man is in good hands but he's itching to see for himself. He glances in the rearview mirror more often than necessary but Face's back blocks his view.

"You better not be getting any blood on my van!" he threatens, more because he feels it's expected of him rather than actually meaning it.

"Don't worry, BA," Hannibal replies. "He's not bleeding much any more."

It's the _any more_ that worries BA. Back in the clearing he hadn't seen any obvious signs of blood. Okay, so the fool was hurt – anyone could see that – but when you add blood into that equation…

Hannibal crawls forward and sits in the passenger seat. BA can feel his stare and he makes a show of concentrating on the road ahead.

"He'll be okay, BA," the colonel soothes.

"We'll be on the main road soon. Should get to the cabin before the cops pass us."

There's a silence from his companions which BA knows usually precedes bad news.

"You did call the cops, didn't you?" he asks.

"Hannibal?" Face queries.

"Well," Hannibal drawls, "you see, Murdock needed help, Face forgot the keys and I needed to clear the way for BA who had his hands full so, no, not exactly."

* * *

"What does 'not exactly' mean?" Face enquires.

Hannibal chews on the end of the unlit cigar which has appeared as if by magic. He wonders how to answer this truthfully while not appearing inept. He really had meant to notify the cops but at the sight of one of his men in pain and distress any thought other than getting all of them out of danger fled.

"BA," he says, "how far to the cabin?"

"Another three miles or so," the sergeant answers.

"As soon as we're there I'll make the call. They won't have gone anywhere as long as you made sure those ropes were tight, Face."

Face looks up from where he's tending to Murdock and throws a scowl at Hannibal that has the colonel glad to have him on his side.

The journey is over in less than five minutes and as BA pulls up in front of the ramshackle cabin, Hannibal throws his door open, casting watchful eyes around, checking for anything that looks out of place or different. It takes only seconds for him to be satisfied that their sanctuary is still undiscovered and he jumps out, heading to the door, knowing Murdock is in safe hands.

He opens up the cabin, giving it the same sweep as the outside before giving his team the okay to enter.

BA and Face carry Murdock between them, lying him on the couch in the main room of the cabin. He's still out of it but Hannibal thinks he may be coming round soon. He's restless and his eyebrows are drawn down.

Hannibal drops to his knees next to his pilot and lays a hand on his forehead. The pilot is warm and clammy. He twists his head away from Hannibal's touch and the colonel frowns. There's clearly a fever setting in but he can't see any obvious wounds that would cause that. There's a head wound but he doesn't think it's deep, just bloody.

He pulls Murdock's jacket open and gently runs his hands over his torso. He grimaces a silent apology as he hits a clearly broken rib and Murdock flinches. There are no open wounds to be seen but the fever is worrying.

"Face," he says, "get the first aid kit. I need to clean his head, see if there's anything we've missed."

Face nods and disappears into the kitchen area to retrieve the requested supplies. BA hovers, nervous energy radiating off him like a heatwave.

Hannibal is wondering what he can give the man to do when Murdock groans and begins to struggle weakly to sit up. His eyes are slowly opening but they're unfocussed and dull. BA is at his side instantly, almost pushing Hannibal aside in his hurry. Hannibal moves away, happy to take a back seat to BA's mother hen instincts.

* * *

Murdock's head is pounding – there's a marching band that appears to have taken up residency somewhere behind his left ear and it's playing a tune he doesn't know. It's a tune that's heavy on the drums though. Maybe if he sits up they'll fall down and by the time they've picked up their instruments again they'll have remembered a softer song.

His body feels like lead as he tries to implement his plan, arms and legs useless, refusing to obey his command. He wonders if this is how Hannibal feels when the team occasionally ignore his orders and smirks inwardly.

As he struggles to sit up he feels a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. His flight or fight instinct kicks in immediately and he goes with fight. It is, he reflects after a couple of seconds, probably not the right one to go with as the marching band lose their balance and fly around his head, instruments all clashing together, any semblance of a tune long forgotten.

"Lie still, fool," he hears.

He thinks for a minute then whispers, "I can do that."

"You gonna be okay," the voice says and he realises it's BA. Which means he's safe. He wonders if this is a good time to ask where they are but before he can form the words, Hannibal is talking to him.

"How are you feeling, Captain?"

"I'm good," Murdock slurs, refusing to give any other answer despite the aches and pains and unseasonable heat in here.

"Hmm." Hannibal doesn't even seem to be trying to hide his disbelief so Murdock gives it another go.

"I'm so good, Colonel," he says, "I can sing along with the band now." And he really thinks he can. The tune they're playing in his head now is a favourite of his. He completely misses the look of confusion his team mates are exchanging.

There's an ensuing pause before Hannibal asks another question.

"Can you open your eyes for me?"

Murdock frowns. "They're open Hannibal. I opened them all by myself."

"They're closed now, Captain." Hannibal sounds concerned and Murdock is surprised by his answer. His eyes are open. He can feel them and he can see Billy hovering over him, tongue lolling out, drooling on his shoulder. But Hannibal sounds so worried he decides to close them and reopen them, just to keep the colonel happy.

"That's better," Hannibal says and smiles, although Murdock doesn't think it's a very good effort.

A sudden, overwhelming wave of tiredness washes over the pilot as he begins to feel heavy, gravity pushing him down more than usual. He looks around the room, happy to see BA at his side and Face reappearing from the kitchen with a first aid kit in hand.

"I'm real sleepy, Colonel," he admits, reluctantly.

Hannibal glances across the room and Murdock knows from experience that looks and silent commands are being exchanged. "It's okay, Murdock. Get some rest."

Murdock nods, instantly regretting the movement, and lets his eyes slide shut.

He hears the team moving around and he guesses they're going to move to the next part of Hannibal's plan, whatever that is. He feels slightly bereft as he senses BA and colonel both moving away from him.

"BA," Hannibal is saying, "get the van. You and I are going to make a few calls, make sure McAlister and his goons get the reception they deserve then we're gonna head into town to pick up some supplies. Face, you stay here with Murdock. We'll be back in an hour. Any trouble call the van."

The voices fade into the distance as Murdock drifts into oblivion.

* * *

The sun has dropped below the treeline and McAlister and his henchmen, still lying on the ground where they were dropped by the A-Team, are beginning to feel the cold. There have been plenty recriminations, mostly flung out by McAlister in curses and threats – towards his own men and to the team.

The less than subtle rustling in the trees silences them, uncertainty covering them like a blanket. The muzzle of a gun appears, followed slowly by a camouflaged figure.

McAlister relaxes and rolls onto his back as the figure strides over to him, knife in hand.

"You took your time," McAlister growls as the knife slices through his bonds.

Rising to his feet, he surveys his fallen men.

"We have work to do," he declares ominously. "No-one does this to me and expects to get away with it. _No-one_."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Stewart McAlister knows how to hold a grudge. It's one of the qualities that make him so good at his job. That and the sociopathic tendencies that used to worry his mother until he left home at 15 under a cloud after the unexplained death of one of the farm hands. She never tried to find him and he wouldn't have opened any lines of communication anyway.

Now, well on his way through middle age, he's built up an empire to be proud of. He's looking to retire on his profits in some South American country, possibly Costa Rica or maybe Argentina, but now there's a fly in his ointment and its name is Colonel John Smith.

Standing in the clearing, surveying the damage done to his men, and himself, he decides there's only one course of action. He thought he'd got the upper hand when that lunatic stumbled into his path.

"Carson," he barks and his men snap to attention as one. "Where are they?"

Carson, who has just released the final man from his bonds, looks McAlister in the eye.

"I didn't see," he admits, "but the tracks lead towards Collison's old place down by the river. I'd guess they're holed up there. They won't have gone far with that madman in tow."

McAlister nods grimly. He can always count on his right-hand man, it's why he left him behind to watch their six. Watching the others scurrying around collecting their weapons he wonders if he should just shoot them here and now and continue with Carson alone.

It seems Carson has been with him so long he can read his thoughts.

"It'll take all of us to surround the cabin," he offers and McAlister reluctantly acknowledges he's right.

"Let's get going then," he commands and strikes out in the same direction the A-Team took just minutes earlier.

* * *

Hannibal eyes BA from the passenger seat of the van as they pull away from the cabin. He can feel the disapproval radiating off his sergeant. He knows what the cause is – it's him and his actions, or lack of. But this silence isn't good for any of them.

"Out with it, BA," he orders. "What's eating you?"

BA grunts and fixes his attention pointedly on the road.

Hannibal sighs and pulls out a cigar. "He's gonna be okay, you know."

BA doesn't respond.

"Face will take care of him and we'll be back there in an hour, tops."

BA still doesn't respond and Hannibal groans inwardly. He really doesn't want to pull rank on this one but it's important that team operate as one, even when the mission is over.

"You made a mistake," BA suddenly growls and Hannibal winces inwardly. Yes, he made a mistake, in fact he made lots but it all turned out okay in the end.

It seems BA isn't finished though. "You made a bad mistake an' now Murdock's paying the price. You shouldn't have sent him in alone. You know the sucker ain't right in the head. You should've known he'd flip."

"BA," Smith starts, wondering how to placate his companion. "Murdock's a grown man and more than that, he's a soldier whether you like it or not. He never loses that no matter what. He was the obvious choice. None of us could have known McAlister had friends at the VA."

And that, thinks Hannibal, is the crux of the matter. They hadn't known and they _should_ _have_. Their research fell down on this one and Murdock was the one who got caught in their failure.

"They'd better be gone by the time we get back," BA threatens. "Or else…"

Hannibal nods in agreement as he picks up the van's phone and dials the local sheriff. Putting on his best, or worst depending on whose opinion counts, Irish accent he makes short work of reporting the thugs currently trussed up like turkeys back in the clearing.

BA seems to be more himself now he's got that off his chest. The colonel knows how much BA really cares about their pilot despite his protestations to the contrary. The silence that falls isn't so heavy now and the journey into town continues uneventfully.

* * *

Face reckons Hannibal and BA have been gone about 20 minutes when Murdock begins to stir again. He moves quietly to the couch and looks down at the man who has saved his life more times than he cares to count. He's cleaned the head wound and thought about wrapping Murdock's ribs but decided to wait till the pilot is at least conscious before he tries that.

He kneels down beside Murdock and gently places a hand on his forehead, pushing back a few stray hairs. The fever seems to be levelling off, no better, no worse, but he still can't work out what's causing it. Of course, he reasons, it might be nothing more than a bug. It might not stem from an infection at all. But then again, he muses, when do things ever work out that easily for them?

Murdock stirs under his hand and when he looks down he sees bleary, unfocused brown eyes looking back up at him.

"Hey," he says, softly. "How you doing?"

"Face?" Murdock sounds uncertain and his eyes are flickering back and forth.

"Yeah, it's me buddy. We're back at the cabin. You're safe now."

Murdock closes his eyes again and his lips move but Face can't hear any sound. He leans in closer and concentrates really hard on what his friend is saying.

"Hurts, Facey. Really hurts."

Resting his hand on the side of Murdock's face, the lieutenant takes his wrist in his other hand, feeling for Murdock's pulse. He finds it easily – it's faster than he'd like but nothing that requires medical attention for now, just monitoring.

"Where does it hurt?" he asks, expecting the pilot to complain of pain in his ribs or head. He's not expecting the answer he gets.

"My heart, Face, my heart. It's broken, Facey. Never gonna fix it. Thousand pieces all over the place. I can't even find them all and even if I could I was never any good at jigsaws."

"Murdock?" Face is confused. "What are you talking about?"

Murdock pushes himself to a semi upright position and grabs onto Face's hand with surprising strength. He pulls it to his chest and places it over his heart. Leaning into Face's space he whispers, "Just here. Can you feel it? Cause I can't. It's gone and I don't know where it is? And it hurts. It hurts so bad."

Face looks at his friend, really looks at him, and sees resignation and hope in his eyes. He nods and pulls his hand away.

"It's still there, Murdock," he reassures the pilot. "It's all in one piece and working just fine."

Murdock, still holding tight to his hand, nods and lies back again.

"Still hurts, Face. Still hurts real bad," he says, eyes sliding shut and he lets go of Face, falling into silence.

Face waits a few minutes to see if Murdock's going to say anything else. When it becomes clear the conversation is over, he stands up and runs a hand through his hair. He has no idea what just happened. Murdock's flights of fancy tend to run to trivial and humorous but there's nothing funny or frivolous about a broken heart and he certainly wasn't talking this way before the mission went south.

He sighs and looks around the cabin, wondering if there's some sort of trigger in the sparse furnishings. As his gaze passes the window he freezes as a flash of light catches his eye.

He moves to the phone and quickly dials the van, watching for any other movement or anything else out of place. He's relieved when Hannibal picks up on the second ring.

* * *

The van's phone rings twice before Hannibal picks up as BA is pulling onto the forecourt of what passes for the local drugstore. BA scans the lot for a spot near the entrance to the store in case they need to beat a hasty retreat, listening as Hannibal picks up.

"What's going on?" he hears the colonel ask. He can just make out Face's voice on the other end, muffled by distance and the outside sounds of the town going about its business.

He's about to get out and leave Hannibal to the conversation when a hand lands on his arm stopping him. He looks at the colonel and knows instantly something is wrong back at the cabin.

"Where's Murdock?" Hannibal is asking and BA studies the man's face for any clues as to what's happening. There's a pause while Face talks to Hannibal. BA watches as the colonel's expression changes from faintly concerned to positively worried. Whatever Face is telling him, it's clearly not _don't worry, Murdock's fine, we're just having a cup of tea and watching Wheel of Fortune_.

"Okay." Hannibal's voice is steady and strong. BA remembers being spoken to like that in Vietnam just before the colonel delivered some devastating news or brought instructions for a crazy dangerous mission. He knows it never precedes good news. "Keep your head, Kid, we're on our way."

"Face thinks they have company," he tells the sergeant. "Murdock's not going to be much help, Face reckons he's having some kind of breakdown, so we're going to need to go in smart. We can't draw attention to ourselves so let's go and get our supplies and head back calmly, like nothing's wrong."

BA doesn't like this idea. It's wasting time but he knows better than to argue. Together they climb out of the van and make their way to the entrance of the drugstore. There aren't many people around and they make quick work of picking up what they need; medical supplies for Murdock, food and drink for them, and a few other bits and pieces that might come in handy – string, nails, glue.

BA, his arms loaded with goods, stands impatiently beside Hannibal as he makes pleasant conversation with the cashier. Just as the colonel pulls out his wallet to pay, the bell above the door jingles. Both soldiers turn to regard the newcomer, instantly on alert as two deputies walk in.

"Stay calm," Hannibal instructs.

"Howdy, boys," the cashier greets them cheerfully, putting the last items in a paper bag for Hannibal.

"Hey there, Chuck, gents." The first deputy nods a brief acknowledgement to BA and Hannibal before turning his attention back to Chuck. BA feels himself sag ever so slightly in relief, they're obviously not the reason for this visit. Not yet.

"Chuck, you seen Stew McAlister at all?"

BA frowns slightly as he feels Hannibal stiffen by his side.

"Not since last night," the cashier is replying. "You boys lost him again?"

"There's reports him and his guys were up by Abbey Ridge but we can't find them. Signs of a fight though. Just thought he might have passed through here."

BA nudges Hannibal subtly, his heart sinking. He thinks he knows what sort of company Face was talking about and their need to get back to the cabin is greater than ever. Frustratingly though, it seems Hannibal decides now is a good time to have a chat.

"Stewart McAlister?" he says, putting on his best tourist-passing-through act. "Isn't he that businessman that's always in the news? I heard he was into some dodgy dealings."

The deputies exchange a look before the second one replies, "That's putting it mildly. We've been after that guy for best part of four years, ever since he arrived in town. Can't get anything to stick though."

"Huh. I heard he's been putting small towns out of business for years." Hannibal passes over the cash.

"You're awful well informed," the deputy retorts.

"Just like to keep abreast of the news," Hannibal mutters. "You've got a lot of shuttered windows round here. Not exactly what me and my friend came to see."

"Yeah, well, you try and put a lid on McAlister and you'll soon find out how easy it really is. If I were you, I'd go and vacation somewhere else. Might be more restful for you." The deputy turns back to Chuck. "If he comes in here, don't make fuss but call us when he's gone. Okay?"

Chuck nods, "Sure thing Abe. Always do."

The deputies leave, casting one final look at BA and Hannibal. The two soldiers give them a few seconds head start before heading out to the van in silence.

"Looks like our mission isn't quite over after all," Hannibal comments and BA just nods in agreement.

* * *

Murdock lies with his eyes closed, unwillingly to open them to the harsh realities that have become his life. Or what he thinks have become his life. He's not too sure about reality at the moment. Face is here with him, somewhere, so he'll hold on to that for now.

He listens to his buddy move round the cabin, stopping in his tracks before moving to the phone. He wonders why his friend needs to make a call but when he listens to Face's side of the conversation he thinks now might be a good time to show reality who's boss.

Swinging his legs round till his feet touch the floor, ignoring the stabbing pains in his chest, he puts his weight forward. It's a bad idea as he lets his head drop down, listening to the blood rushing past his ears. It's making a lot of noise and he didn't think he had that much blood in him, let alone in his head.

"Hey, hey, Murdock. Stay put." He feels Face's hand on his shoulder and tries really hard to lift his head. Prising his eyes open he squints at the figure standing over him. He can just about see the lieutenant's features, silhouetted by the fading light outside. He concentrates really hard on watching his lips move as he speaks.

"Where d'you think you're going?"

Murdock ponders for a second or two before replying, "Wherever you're going. We need to stick together. We always stick together."

"I'm not going anywhere," Face replies but Murdock knows that's a lie. He's seen the gun in Face's hand, the one dangling harmlessly by his side.

"Ha," he laughs and wafts one arm in the direction of the weapon. "You gonna use that on me then? Just cause my heart's gone missing, don't mean I don't love you still," he whines and flutters his eyelids dramatically.

Face sighs and puts the gun on the floor by his feet. Murdock feels him put his now free hand on his forehead. It feels good, safe and comforting.

"You're not well, buddy," he tells the pilot, who laughs.

"You just figured that out?" he asks in a moment of clarity.

"Lie down, Murdock. You need to rest. BA and Hannibal will be back soon and then we'll think about getting you back to VA. Okay?"

Murdock thinks about agreeing to Face's request, after all he asked so nicely, when there's a crash from the kitchen and the sound of heavy boots on wooden floors.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Face spins towards the kitchen, simultaneously kicking his gun under couch where Murdock is still sitting. Two men burst through the doorway and Face wonders briefly how they both managed to fit at the same time.

He recognises them instantly. He last saw them about an hour ago as he was binding their hands together in the clearing. They look angry and he can't really blame them. They've rearmed themselves somewhere along the line and he's looking down the barrel of two assault rifles.

Subconsciously he moves in front of Murdock, an effort to protect the injured pilot although he's aware that it'll take more than body to stop those guns getting to his friend. He raises his hands in a show of surrender as he listens to the sound of more feet trampling through the front door and the back windows.

Reluctantly he accepts that he and Murdock are completely surrounded and all he can do right now is hope and pray that BA and Hannibal are on their way back and expecting trouble.

Stewart McAlister pushes his way past his minions and comes to a stop just a couple of fee away from the lieutenant.

"Where are the rest of you?" he demands as he raises a pistol level with Face's chest.

Face shrugs. "They're not here," he says.

"But they will be soon," Murdock mutters ominously from the couch behind him. Face wishes the pilot had kept quiet but that's an accomplishment he's never achieved and doubts he ever will. In fact, if it ever happens he'll have more than a runaway mouth to worry about he reckons.

"Is that so?" McAlister sneers, advancing until he's truly in Face's personal space. He hasn't looked at Murdock once, his cold eyes burning into Face's. It takes all of Face's resolve not to back up a step.

Instead the conman smiles his sweetest smile, the one he was holding in reserve for Annette, or was it Lynette? Doesn't really seem to matter right now. He opens his mouth but before he can spin a line Murdock's voice echoes through the room again.

"They'll be back soon, ding-dong," and Face wonders what the hell a 'ding-dong' is, "and when they get here you'd better run as fast your tiny little legs will carry you," Murdock finishes.

Face tenses up as McAlister turns to his closest companion. "Hear that, Carson," he laughs. "Are you as scared as I am?"

Carson, standing upright with a gun on Murdock shakes his head in mock fear. "I'm real scared Stew," he replies. "What d'you think we should do?"

McAlister shrugs as he focuses his attention on his captive audience, eyes now sliding between Face and Murdock. "I think we should even up the odds," he answers, and Face really doesn't like the implication in that.

He likes it even less as the pistol in McAlister's hand moves up from his chest to his forehead and the finger on the trigger begins to tighten.

* * *

"Leave the van here, BA," Colonel Smith instructs his sergeant.

They're about 15 minutes steady hike from the cabin and BA isn't happy about the time it's going to take them to reach Murdock and Face but he can see the logic in Hannibal's order. They'll be quieter, harder to spot, easier to split up. But it still doesn't mean he has to like it.

They slip through the woodland surrounding the cabin with ease, silent and deadly, each deep in their own thoughts. They're armed: guns, hand and assault, spare ammo, knives, grenades, as much as they could carry from the van. Whatever they find, they're coming at it prepared.

BA spots two jeeps just as they skirt round the final bend in the track, still hidden by the trees. He points it out to Hannibal, although he'd be surprised and not a little worried if he hadn't already seen it for himself.

"Eight men, max," the colonel whispers. "We know there were at least six back at the Ridge. I think it's safe to assume McAlister has a couple of spares somewhere."

BA nods. "We can take them suckers out," he asserts, tapping the butt of his assault rifle.

"Now, BA," Hannibal pacifies him, "we _could_." He chews on the end of his cigar and drops to his haunches. "Or we could teach them a lesson. After all, it's not nice to take what's not yours."

"We ain't got time for no messing," BA argues. "Face and Murdock ain't got time for us to be messing!"

He glares at Hannibal, surprised at the strength with which he dislikes this plan. The colonel, however, just grins up at him.

"McAlister's not going to do anything. He wants his money too bad. And he knows if he hurts Face or Murdock he's never going to see it again. The one good thing about him," and Hannibal's grin gets wider, "is that he's greedy. And greedy people are predictable."

"He's already hurt the fool," BA protests, "an' he's gotta pay for that."

"And he will, BA. Don't worry."

"I hope you're right," BA grumbles. He knows Hannibal rarely gets it wrong. He doesn't always get the plan right, the fact they get results is often coincidental to the plan, but BA trusts Hannibal with his life, and that of his friends.

"You go that way," Hannibal points to the left of the cabin, "and check out the back. I'll go the other way. We'll meet back here. Remember, we know of six, look out for any others."

BA nods as he slips away from the colonel, eyes peeled for any movement or trees out of place. There's nothing and he can't help thinking that McAlister is more than stupid not to have at least one lookout.

And then the cabin window comes into view and he can clearly see the scene inside. He can see Face, can see he's talking to the man in front of him. He can see Murdock struggling to sit up on the couch and he can see that they're surrounded by an array of weapons, not entirely dissimilar to the arsenal he and Hannibal are carrying.

He counts six men and once he's happy there are no more enemies hiding on his side of the building, he manoeuvres himself into a good viewing position. Hannibal, he reasons, will come to him and he needs to keeps an eye on his team.

He wishes he could see what Face and Murdock can see but he's in the wrong position for that so he'll just have to use their facial expressions to work out what's going on. For now it seems things are, if not okay, at least amicable. Face is talking. Then Murdock is talking and then events take a turn for the worse. BA can clearly see a gun levelled at Murdock and McAlister, he thinks, is raising his arm. Suddenly there's a look of pure panic on the pilot's face and Face is raising his hands, clearly trying to charm his way out of something. BA hopes to hell he's not trying to bargain for his life but from the look on Murdock's face he's pretty sure that's exactly what's happening in there.

He wonders where Hannibal's got to; he could really do with some help here. He watches the scene through the window, raising his own rifle, picking out McAlister in his sights, when there's an almighty crashing from somewhere inside the cabin he can't see and then Hannibal is there.

Inside the cabin.

With a gun to his head.

And BA is on his own.

* * *

It's not quite the entrance Hannibal was planning but at least he's inside now where he can see exactly what the position is. He stumbles slightly as he's pushed forward by a strong hand between his shoulder blades and takes advantage of the moment to take a really good look around.

There are six men there. He's quietly relieved that his estimate of eight was wrong. McAlister and his cronies are all armed, Face at the end of one gun and Murdock another. He can't see any weapons for his lieutenant or pilot to use but he's still got his pistol tucked in the small of his back and a knife or two concealed about himself.

In an ideal world he would have made a similar entrance but with BA at his side, not a gun at his head but he's Colonel John Smith and he thrives on the jazz. He can work with this.

He grins at Face and Murdock past the cigar ever present at the corner of his mouth.

"Hi guys," he says and waves his cigar around the room. "Nice party you've got going on here. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

He ignores the glare that Face sends in his direction but neither Face nor Murdock are stupid enough to ask where BA is.

"We found him outside, boss, sneaking through the undergrowth," his captor informs McAlister.

"I wouldn't say 'sneaking'," Hannibal protests. "That would be childish. And," and he takes a dramatic pause while he wonders if anyone can tell he's improvising here, "that would imply I didn't want to be found."

"Er, Colonel?" Murdock tries to attract his attention and Hannibal spares him a quick glance. "Not that we're not glad to see you, but…" and he trails off, waving a hand aimlessly.

Hannibal nods, who to even he's not quite sure. McAlister and his goons are amateurs compared to his team and he doubts any of them are a real threat to his boys. Face is looking good, he can be relied on. Murdock though? They've been through the wars together, literally, and Hannibal reckons he can read the pilot like a book. Right now he's looking more like Don Quixote than Biggles. He hopes Face can pick up the slack because Biggles would be a lot more use than Quixote, and he really, _really_ , hopes that BA isn't too far away.

On the plus side, he decides, McAlister has let his gun position drop so Face is no longer in any immediate danger. Hannibal pretends not to see the relief that flits across his lieutenant's face because he knows that later Face will say he was never worried.

Stewart McAlister swings his arm by his side and the colonel almost laughs at the bravado the man is showing as he turns to him.

"Well," he drawls, "now you're here, why don't you tell me where my money is and we'll be on our way."

"Can't do that," Hannibal assures him with a cheeky grin. "See, my sergeant is in charge of that side of things and you don't want to upset BA. He's already upset enough so let's just skip the money part and you boys head on out."

"Yeah, that doesn't work for me," McAlister tells him and in a movement so swift Hannibal has to acknowledge a grudging respect he swings his gun back up and fires, the sound of the shot mingling with Murdock's cry of anguish and Face's cry of pain.

* * *

Murdock can't quite grasp how it's all gone to hell so fast. One minute Hannibal was chatting away the next Face is on the floor, blood staining his shirt and the rug beneath him. His eyes are wide open and he's looking at Murdock with the same disbelief the pilot is feeling right now.

Murdock ignores his ribs as he falls off the couch to kneel beside his friend, hands automatically going for the bloodied area. He presses down, the only thought in his head to stop the bleeding. Face gasps and writhes beneath him but Murdock just shakes his head.

"Don't move, Facey," he whispers. "Don't move. You're okay. You're okay."

Face grabs at his arms, clamping a surprisingly strong hand round his wrist. "Stop," he pleads, but Murdock can't stop. He's caught in a loop and he has to keep his hands where they are, he has to stop the blood leaking out of his friend.

He's aware of voices in the room and he's pretty sure one of them is Hannibal's but it's all a bit fuzzy, voices merging into one hum, rising and falling in time with his pulse. His vision greys round the edges until all he can see is Face's torso, red blood a shocking contrast to the brilliant white shirt. All he can feel is the sticky, warm fluid oozing between his fingers and Face's hand tightening on his wrist.

Then there's a hand on his shoulder and in his head he knows it's Hannibal, or maybe BA, come to reassure him, come to fix Face.

But it's not and as the fingers on his shoulder curl into him, digging deep and painfully into his flesh, he's yanked upright so fast he thinks he going to have a friction burn from where he's been pulled out of Face's grip. He's spun round and thrown back onto the couch with such force that the room flips a slow 360 before he can focus again.

Everything pings back into focus and Murdock feels more sane than he has since leaving the jungles of Vietnam. Almost too sane. He takes in his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. Colonel Smith is standing toe to toe with Stewart McAlister, a gun between them which isn't being held by the right person. Lieutenant Peck is on the ground, bleeding from a wound in his torso. The military man in Murdock can see it's to one side and that probably means it's only a graze. Painful but not debilitating. Sergeant Baracus is nowhere to be seen. He's probably undercover somewhere, waiting to launch a full scale attack on the barracks any minute now.

He sits as upright as he can, assessing his own body while he's at it. The pain in his ribs is keeping him focussed and his percussion band seem to be taking a break, all except for the triangle player but he can easily ignore that.

"Colonel?" he says, no trace of fear or uncertainty in his voice. "Who do you want me to take out first?" and he glares at Carson and the gun that is still steadily pointing at him.

Hannibal turns and there's a strange, worried look on his face as he studies his pilot.

"At ease, Captain," he tells Murdock.

"No can do, sir," comes the reply. "Got a casualty here, Colonel and we need to take out the hostiles so we can get to safety. Sir."

"Murdock, stand down," Hannibal repeats and Murdock tears his eyes off Carson to look at his commanding officer. The cabin seems to fade into nowhere until there's only him, his unit and the enemy. Tunnel vision, a voice in his head tells him.

"Colonel, Face's dying," he pleads. "We gotta get him to help. We gotta take Charlie out now!"

"Captain!" Hannibal barks. "Stand down! That's an order." Then he's moving slowly towards Murdock until he's standing right in front of him. He puts a hand on his shoulder and waits until Murdock relaxes slightly.

"Stand down," he repeats softly, casting a glance at Face who is moaning quietly, watching the scene around him with a creased brow. "We'll take them out. I got a plan."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

BA isn't quite sure what he's watching. All he knows is that Face is on the floor, brought down by a single gunshot, and Murdock seems to be having some kind of episode judging by Hannibal's stance.

He drops down into the security of the bushes while he tries to regulate his breathing and get his heartbeat to slow down. In the depths of his stomach he can feel a lump of leaden iron slowly heating up, his anger fuelling the flames, melting the lead into pure, molten rage.

These men were dead the second they hurt Murdock but now? Now they've hurt another of his little brothers and suddenly death doesn't seem good enough for them. It's too quick, too painless. They need to suffer the way his friends have suffered – are suffering.

He peers over the bushes he's hiding in to get another look at what's going on while he tries to work out what he's going to do. Contrary to popular opinion, he's not just the brawn on the team. He's got a brain and while it may not be as inventive as Face's or as quick as Hannibal's it works just fine.

There's little change to the tableau in the cabin. Hannibal has turned to face McAlister, still with a hand on Murdock's shoulder, presumably to keep the pilot grounded, glancing at Face from time to time. His mouth is moving but BA never mastered the art of lip reading so he's not sure what's being said.

Murdock is as still as BA has ever seen him and he smiles grimly to himself. Murdock looks innocent, he probably came out of Vietnam the most innocent of all them, but BA knows he can be just as deadly. Just because he left part of himself in the jungle doesn't mean he didn't hold something in reserve. BA almost feels sorry for the goons in there.

It's clear Face can't be counted on although the sergeant knows that their resident conman has many hidden depths so it's not totally inconceivable that he may still pull a rabbit out of the hat.

For the moment, it looks like there's no further immediate danger to his team so BA takes a minute to assess his own situation. He's got the weapons he carried with him from the van – a couple of guns, hand and rifle, as many knives as he could conceal about his person without spearing himself and pockets full of hand grenades. He reckons Hannibal had the same equipment with him and he didn't see any sign of them on the colonel through the window. Hopefully he managed to divest himself of his armoury before he was captured.

The sergeant weighs up his options. A full on assault, grenades through the window followed by a volley of bullets, is too risky. He doesn't have time to take out the enemy one by one on his own and he can't subject his team to an unexpected barrage of grenades. They wouldn't have time to take shelter and it's unlikely Face can move that fast anyway. His only option is stealth.

Taking one last look at the cabin, BA takes a deep breath and disappears into the woodland surrounding the building.

* * *

Taking his time, Hannibal waits for Murdock to look him in the eye before releasing his gentle hold on the captain. Once he's happy the pilot isn't about to launch himself to his almost certain death at the hands of McAlister's little crew, Hannibal turns back to the ringleader.

"That wasn't nice," he points out, glancing at Face. To the outsider it's just a casual glance but that's all it takes for the colonel to assess his lieutenant's condition. He's pale and in obvious pain but Hannibal is heartened that he still has enough wits about him to give an almost imperceptible nod.

"I'm not playing games, Smith," McAlister replies. "And I'm not a nice person. Now, shall we try again?" and he raises his gun again, aiming in Face's direction. "How many times do I need to shoot him before you tell me where my money is?"

Hannibal shrugs, nonchalance seeping from every pore. Inside though his blood has turned cold and his heart is racing. He will never, _never_ , sacrifice one of his men for money. He knows they can all take their fair share of hurt and not complain but the man in front of him won't get the satisfaction of inflicting any more pain on them. The money doesn't seem so important now but Hannibal genuinely doesn't have it.

He wonders briefly about throwing himself in front of the gun, shielding Face, protecting him in the ultimate fashion, but discards that idea almost instantly. Yes, it would save Face for a few minutes but with both his captain and lieutenant injured he needs to stay on top of his game.

The sound of a hammer being pulled back on McAlister's gun brings him back to the moment.

"If you shoot him again," he tries, " I will never tell you where that money it and," and he waves a hand at Murdock, "I might just let Murdock take you out."

"Really?" Murdock pipes up. "Can I? Can I? Can I?" and it appears that manic Murdock is back, however temporarily.

Hannibal senses the younger man's efforts to rise up off the couch.

McAlister just laughs although, Hannibal notes with relief, the gun drops slightly.

"You just try it," he offers the colonel as he swings his gun slowly in Murdock's direction. "That boy ain't taking anyone out. Hell, I'm surprised he's still standing."

"Takes more than you've got to stop me, muchacho," Murdock hisses from behind.

Hannibal tries not to worry too much about the way his voice tails off into a ragged cough. A beating and broken ribs will do that to a man, he thinks and silently promises Murdock some retribution for whatever he suffered before they could get him back.

"Sounds to me like he's ready for round two, boss," Carson pipes up, a cruel grin splitting his face.

"Well," drawls McAlister, "maybe you're right. What'd you say, boy?"

He steps forward, stopping only when Hannibal's arm makes contact with his chest.

"Let me make one thing very, very clear," the colonel says, voice steady and menacing, the time for games over. "If you think I'm just gonna let you…"

But he doesn't get the chance to finish his threat as McAlister suddenly drops to the floor, his legs swept out from under him by Face who is now lying on his side, panting from the exertion, and probably regretting the action.

* * *

There are few things in Face's life that have any true value. It is, he supposes, one of the drawbacks of being a conman. Money, women, fast cars. They come and go, some more easily than others. Penthouse apartments, beach houses, sophisticated town houses. He can find them in any town or city, usually in under an hour. And he can vacate them in less than a minute if need be. Nothing is permanent in his life.

Except his team.

He values loyalty, friendship and trust and he has all three with his team. He won't let anyone take that away from him at any cost, he'll do anything for them and he knows they'll do the same for him.

So when the bullet hit his first thought was 'what the hell just happened?' followed by 'shit!'. Now, lying on the floor he breathes through the pain, hand pressed against the wound. He knows this shirt is ruined and then wonders why that seems so important right now.

Focussing on the pain he slowly turns his head, biting down on his lip to prevent any sound escaping as his nerves scream out with every pump of his heartbeat. Fortunately everyone seems to have forgotten about him. He may well be the Faceman but he can also fade into nothing when he needs to. This time, though, he's faded without even trying.

Murdock is on his feet, just, swaying and glaring at McAlister and Carson in equal measure. Through the buzz of blood in his ears, Face listens to the exchange between the colonel and McAlister. The realisation that he's out of immediate danger is met with relief which is tempered by the accompanying realisation that Murdock seems to be being targeted again.

Face can't have that. He knows McAlister probably won't stop until someone stops him and right now it's unlikely Murdock has the physical capability to do that himself. Hannibal has stopped the man temporarily but the look on Murdock's face scares Face the most. The pilot is putting on show of bravado but that's all it is.

Face doesn't know when he made the decision to act, maybe he didn't make it at all, maybe it just happens, an automatic reaction to his friends being threatened. McAlister is the primary threat and, conveniently, close enough to Face for the lieutenant to make contact. He takes a deep breath and centres himself – this is going to hurt – and, rolling onto his side, swings his leg out, gritting his teeth when his shin makes contact with McAlister's shin.

It hurts and Face knows there'll be bruise there but as McAlister loses his balance, the conman allows himself a brief smile before the exertion catches up with him. The impact of bone on bone has resonated up his leg and along his spine. The gunshot wound is screaming in protest and Face feels sick, nausea creeping up from his gut. He swallows rapidly, trying to control it, thanking God when the feeling subsides.

He rolls onto his back and closes his eyes, hoping for at least a minute or two to recover himself as best he can.

"You're going to regret that!" a voice hisses in his ear, far closer than he was expecting. He gives himself a subconscious pat on the back for not flinching but simply opens his eyes lazily and smiles his most charming smile.

"Yeah, probably," he agrees. "I never really think things through."

McAlister pushes himself to his knees and Face finds himself unable to look away from those cold, hard eyes that are bearing into him. If he could look somewhere else, he probably would have seen the fist coming towards him in time to take evasive action.

As it is, all he hears is Murdock crying out his name, followed by the swoosh of air as McAlister's fist connects with his head and everything swims in and out of focus. And then the world fades to nothing.

* * *

Murdock surges forward the second McAlister rises to his knees but he's forgotten about the goons behind him. Carson is far too interested in the debacle going on on the floor to notice Murdock preparing for action but the silent figures behind him are quick to throw themselves at the pilot.

As he goes down, a tangle of limbs and bodies, he sees McAlister about to deliver a punishing blow to Face and tries to warn his buddy. It doesn't do any good but it seems he's managed to buy the colonel a few precious seconds. Both Carson and McAlister turn to look at him and in that instant, Hannibal throws himself on McAlister.

From his position beneath the hoodlums, Murdock can just see Hannibal raising an arm to deliver retribution. Murdock's glad, not for the first time, to be on Hannibal's side and not against him. He watches as McAlister reels from the punch, falling away from Face who appears to have lost consciousness.

Murdock squirms and flails, managing to free one arm from the octopus-like grip of his assailants. He throws his hand out, fingers scrabbling for purchase on something, anything, sending up words of thanks when he connects with what feels like hair. He pulls with all his might and there's a satisfying grunt from above followed by the lifting of a weight off his body. Gratefully he takes as deep a breath as possible while still holding on to the hair, refusing to let go.

Then there's a hand on his wrist and the pressure is almost unbearable, bones and tendons grinding together as the grip tightens until he has no choice but to let go of his prize. He pulls on his arm, desperately trying to free it but the man holding him has the advantage of size and a lack of injuries. Instead of releasing his arm, the man pulls Murdock upright, yanking his arm back and up towards his shoulder blades, simultaneously forcing the pilot to bend at the waist.

Murdock can't help the cry of pain as his ribs and shoulder socket protest the rough treatment. He can only look down as the band in his head crash around, woken from their slumber to take up their instruments again.

Then he hears a gun being cocked and he knows their attempt at escape has come to an abrupt and unsuccessful end.

"Stand up, Smith," Carson orders and Murdock can almost hear the resignation in the silence that follows.

There's shuffling of feet and Murdock's head is beginning to swim in this position. He's suddenly beyond exhausted and doesn't think he's going to stay upright much longer, with or without help.

"That was stupid," he hears McAlister growl. "Now I have to wait for this one," and Murdock assumes he's talking about Face, "to wake up before we settle this once and for all."

He forces his head up and confirms what he thought. Hannibal has clearly had a good crack at McAlister – there's blood on both men's faces although it seems Hannibal has got the most hits on target – and Face is lying on his back, eyes closed, arm flung out to one side. He could almost be sleeping, Murdock muses.

Dropping his head back down, he catches a glimpse of something lying beneath the couch. He wonders briefly about the housekeeping abilities of the homeowner before remembering Face sliding his gun out of sight earlier. Murdock smiles to himself.

Now all he has to do is work out how to get hold of it.

* * *

BA slides through the undergrowth, his thoughts racing. As he comes to the side of the house he sees signs of a struggle and wonders if this is where Hannibal was taken. He pauses, remembering his colonel's words of wisdom – take the time to think, don't rush into things blindly.

Dropping to his haunches, the sergeant surveys the area, noting a mound of leaves that seem somehow out of place. Moving over, he slowly checks the immediate area. Satisfied there are no traps, he brushes the top of the mound. Leaves scatter, drifting to the ground as though blown off the trees by the autumn breeze, revealing a pile of weapons.

BA smiles. He was right – this is where Hannibal was taken. But it looks like it wasn't a surprise. He had time to leave his stash of weapons for BA to find.

And use.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Stewart McAlister glares at Hannibal. He's beginning to think the money is a secondary issue now. He's decided that these men all need to die but it's not going to be a simple bullet to the head – that's too easy, too neat, _too quick_.

He knows there's another one out there somewhere and he's the one with the cash according to Smith. Two birds with one stone, he thinks. Get the loner to bring the cash in exchange for these three. Lure him in with promises and then take them out, one by one in full view of each other. Slowly and painfully.

He smiles and waves his hand towards the couch.

"Sit," he orders, an order backed up by Carson and his other minions brandishing their weapons at Murdock and Hannibal.

He watches as the younger man hesitates to move until Smith nods at him. He seems to sag onto the couch as the colonel sits beside him, eyes not moving from McAlister.

"You're becoming more trouble than you're worth," he muses aloud. "Tell me, Smith. If you were me, what would you do next?"

"I'd let us go," Smith replies, amusement creeping into his voice and McAlister returns the smile.

"Always with the jokes," he notes before moving away from the seated men and seating himself on an overstuffed armchair across the room. He settles back, resting his arms on his legs, gun held loosely in his hand.

"I'll tell you what I would do if I were you," he says, "what I think you _are_ doing. I'd wait for my missing operative to make contact somehow. I would expect him to mount a rescue attempt and I would expect him to use minimal force in order to avoid any injuries to my own team. I would expect him to be out there now, gathering his resources and biding his time." He leans forward and tilts his head to one side. "How am I doing so far?"

There's no reply forthcoming other than a steely glare. For the first time McAlister wonders if he's got the measure of the man or not.

"I'm going to take that as an affirmative," he decides. "Then, when my man thinks it's safe and he's got the advantage of surprise, he's going come through the door, or maybe the window, and he's going to take down the prime target. That would be me and you, Carson." He pauses, looks to his second in command and takes in the solidity of the man. Smith and his team, he thinks, don't stand a chance.

But Hannibal just smiles benignly at him and relaxes back into the couch.

"That's pretty good, Stewy," he says. "Nothing gets by you, does it?"

McAlister bristles at the use of a hated nickname but refuses to be side tracked by it.

"Thing is, Smith, I know what your man is thinking and that means I know where he'll be and what he's going to try to do." He mirrors the colonel's relaxed posture. "And that means he's going to fail."

* * *

Leaning back on the couch, Hannibal can feel the body heat radiating off Murdock and he hopes that's just a sign of exertion and not an oncoming fever. He hasn't had time to check his pilot over fully yet and although he's sure Face has done so, the lieutenant isn't in any fit state to give him a report at the moment.

McAlister has pretty much nailed what he expects BA to do and Hannibal has to give the man a grudging admiration for that. He wishes he could talk to the only team member still at liberty but that's going to be impossible so he's going to have to find a way to get a message to him instead, tell him not to go with the most obvious, and probably, only rescue plan.

He's not going to give McAlister and his goons the satisfaction of knowing he's hit the nail on the head though. The best weapon he has right now is the ability to keep the man off balance, unsure.

So he nods thoughtfully before taking a long, deliberate look at Face.

"Thing is," he says, directing his words to McAlister but keeping his head turned towards the unconscious man on the floor, "that's what you would do, and that's what I would do but BA? Well, he's a man of few words and I wouldn't like to bet on what he's going to do. I did that once in Vietnam." He stops and turns his head to McAlister. Huffing out a small laugh he continues, "Boy, I'll tell you, I am _never_ going to take that kind of wager again!"

He sees Murdock shift around out of the corner of his eye and wonders if the kid's going to join in. He wonders if he remembers the incident he's talking about and then decides it's best for everyone if he doesn't. But Murdock doesn't open his mouth, just carries on fidgeting on the couch next to him.

"You're betting man then, Smith? Let's make a bet then. I bet you that I can gut and string up all three of you before your man even gets in the cottage."

Hannibal doesn't like the sound of McAlister's voice any more than he likes the actual words. He's lost any humorous tones, there's only a dark, cold threat that sends a chill down the colonel's spine.

"And what do I get when you lose?" he asks, seriously for once.

"You ain't gonna win," Carson chips in. "Specially with two of your men down already."

"Colonel?" Murdock pipes up, sounding very small and lost. "If you're gonna take a wager, you better bet on BA. Cos the big guy, well he won't let us down."

"I know, Captain," Hannibal reassures him. "I wouldn't bet any other way."

"Well, isn't that sweet," Carson mocks. "Boss, looks like we got ourselves a wager that we can't lose."

"They're the only bets worth taking," McAlister nods. "Now all we have to do is sit back and wait for your one man assault team."

* * *

Face comes round slowly, one sense at a time. He can feel his head throbbing in time to his heart beat and the hard floor at his back. The injury on his side is pulsing gently but he thinks it's stopped bleeding. He becomes aware of his hand still resting over the wound and he can feel the blood congealing around his fingers, on the palm of his hand and where it's crept down to his wrist.

He's not ready to move yet, or open his eyes but his hearing is slowly coming back to him, the buzzing fading to an annoying background hum. He listens to the conversation between Carson and McAlister and has to bite back a grin. They think he's still down so he's not going to do anything to dispel them of that illusion.

He's worried by Murdock's tone of voice but he's more worried by Hannibal's. The colonel only uses that tone when things are badly out of his control and Face knows from past experience that when that happens, Hannibal's final resort is the type of violence they try to avoid back in the civilised world.

He keeps his eyes closed, wondering if there's any way at all he can get to the gun he flung under the couch. He doesn't think Murdock was in any state to notice him doing it at the time and even if he did, he's not sure the pilot is going to be able to get to it in time to do any real damage.

The room has settled into an uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of a foot bouncing up and down on the floor. Face guesses it's Murdock but he can't risk looking to confirm it – he's going to need the element of surprise.

Just as Face is wondering how long he can keep up his pretence, the stillness is broken by a sound from outside. He can't work out what it is, it could be BA crashing through the undergrowth but he knows that despite his appearance, the sergeant can be as stealthy and sneaky as any one of them. Or it could be reinforcements for McAlister. He doesn't like that idea but he can't rule it out either.

Whatever it is, it's obviously unexpected by everyone else too.

"Boss?" That's Carson's voice and he sounds unnerved.

"Wilson, check it out." McAlister issues the order in a clear, confident voice and Face almost opens his eyes to see what they can see.

He hears footsteps coming close to him then fading away into the distance, thudding on the tiled kitchen floor. He guesses the man is heading out the back door and wonders if BA is planning on taking out the sleazeballs one by one. He didn't think McAlister was stupid enough to fall for that but maybe…

A door opens, there's a long pause then the door closes again.

"Nothing out there, boss."

Face doesn't recognise this voice so assumes it's Wilson. Either the man didn't look very closely, or BA had nothing to do with the noise. He hopes it's the former. He thinks it probably is.

There are more movements, the sound of men moving around, Murdock's foot in perpetual motion, people shuffling in their seats getting comfortable. But nobody is talking and Face is beginning to find that disconcerting. Why isn't Hannibal holding forth on why McAlister is making a big mistake? Why isn't Murdock rambling on in his own inimitable style? And why isn't BA crashing through the window?

He decides Hannibal must have a plan and that waiting silently must be a part of it. So he relaxes and waits, trying to keep up the appearance of oblivion.

* * *

The silence is killing Murdock. He can't stand the oppression and weight of it. It's crushing his spirit and mind. He can't understand why the colonel is happy to just sit here and do nothing. Face hasn't moved and Murdock's doesn't understand why Hannibal isn't doing something to help him.

He's hot. He doesn't know if it's him or whether the room is warming up. There are so many bodies in here he's wondering if they're going to run out of air in a minute. Maybe Facey can't wake up because there's no air. Maybe that's why Hannibal is so still and quiet, he doesn't want to use up their oxygen.

Perhaps he should his breath. That would help. The colonel would be able to make a plan, break them out of here, if he does that.

So he does. He takes one deep breath, tries to disguise it as a sigh, and clamps his lips together. He sometimes does this back at the VA when he wants attention. He's never quite passed out yet but he's come close. Although, to be fair, he usually makes a lot more noise about it. But he doesn't want attention this time. He wants Hannibal to use his oxygen to fuel his brain.

His foot stills and he focuses on the blood pulsing through his veins. If he can slow it down enough, he can get a message to Face or Hannibal. Or even BA.

He doesn't know how long it's been but the sound of the blood rushing past his ears is getting so loud and the world seems to be fading to grey round the edges. He thinks he might be swaying, or perhaps the world is swaying, when suddenly Hannibal jabs a remarkably sharp elbow into his ribs.

His broken ribs.

He gasps in pain and throws an indignant, hurt look at his colonel.

"Don't do that, Murdock," Hannibal hisses at him. "I need you here."

Oh. Okay. That kind of makes sense to Murdock but he's still worried about the oxygen levels. And Face. He should probably try and do something about Face.

He leans forward, makes to rise up off the couch but the dig Hannibal just gave him has reignited a world of discomfort. A hand on his shoulder stops his forward motion and, turning his head sideways he sees Hannibal frowning at him, shaking his head.

"Where're you going, Captain?" he queries.

Murdock points at Face and, oblivious to their company, says frantically, "I gotta check on the Faceman. He's not getting any air. How's he going to get better if he can't breathe?"

"There's plenty of air here," Hannibal reassures him but Murdock's not having any of it. He struggles to throw Hannibal's hand off and shuffles towards the edge of the couch again. He doesn't get very far though as the colonel puts his other hand on his chest.

"Murdock, Captain, I need you to calm down," he says and Murdock realises his own breathing has become faster.

"Will you check on him, colonel?" he asks, hating how pathetic he sounds. He turns to Hannibal and their eyes meet. "Please, Hannibal," he continues. "I gotta know he's okay."

Hannibal finally releases his hold and nods once before turning to McAlister.

"I need to check on my man," he states, voice strong and steady, just what Murdock needs to hear right now to help him stay in the here and now.

McAlister laughs, a short, sharp bark of a laugh and shakes his head.

"How stupid do you think I am?" he asks.

Murdock has plenty of answers to that one but Hannibal has just told him to calm down and he doesn't think throwing insults around is going to help. Next to him, Hannibal just shrugs and stands up anyway.

"What'd you think I'm going to do?" he counters. "You've got a gun on all of us. Now, I'm going to check on my man and you're not going to do anything to stop me."

* * *

BA throws himself full length on the ground as the back door of the cabin opens. He knows they've come to see what the noise was but it actually wasn't him. He thinks it was an animal of some description crashing about in the woods but he's no wildlife expert.

He studies the man that stands on the threshold giving the area a half-hearted inspection. If that's the best McAlister has to offer, BA thinks, there's nothing here he would actually call a threat, or even competition.

As the scout makes his way back inside, BA crawls as close to the cabin walls as he dares. He's keeping low, well below the sight lines of the windows. Someone would have to be actively looking at the ground to spot him and he knows they think there's nothing out here.

Part of him knows they'll be looking for him. Waiting for him to make his move. And he knows Hannibal has probably already worked out what he's going to do and is preparing the rest of his unit. BA's pretty sure there will be casualties but only on McAlister's side. From what he's seen neither Face nor Murdock are going to be able to help without hurting and he doesn't want to be the reason either of his little brothers are in more pain than necessary.

He can hear voices but he can't make out the words. It's a muffled jumble of sounds. He can make out McAlister and Hannibal. The fool is jabbering on about something but there's silence from Face. That worries BA more than he cares to admit. From his point of view, the lieutenant's injury hadn't looked that serious so he doesn't understand why he's not trying to charm their way to freedom.

He sidles to the door and rises up to his haunches to peer through the glass panes. He can't see much from that angle but there's definitely movement. He drops down again, back resting against the wall beside the door, making sure he's hidden if it opens.

He slides his hand into his pocket and takes hold of a grenade. He's going to have create some confusion and try to get into the cabin during the ensuing confusion. From here, he reckons he can release the pin and hurl it far away enough to the front to ensure McAlister's men go out the front way, leaving him a route that, if not clear, is at least manageable till he reaches his team.

Making sure he's got a gun in his other hand that's loaded and ready to go, a rifle slung over his shoulder that's easily accessible when his pistol is empty, and weapons in easy reach to pass to Hannibal, Face and Murdock, he takes one final look into the cabin.

It's not the best plan in history. It's not exactly high on jazz. It may not even come together but it's all BA's got.

He pulls the pin and throws the grenade as far to the front of the building as he can and counts down to the inevitable explosion.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Four seconds has never seemed so long to BA before. He counts it down in his head, readying himself for a backdoor attack. He wonders if it will cause enough of a distraction for him to get into the cabin. From what he's seen McAlister and his gang aren't the sharpest of tools in the box but he's been fooled before. He's not taking anything for granted where the safety of his team is concerned.

The explosion, when it comes, is satisfyingly effective. He hadn't planned it, but his aim proves to be spectacular, the grenade landing just feet away from the main entrance to the cabin. It throws up equal amounts of dust and stone, grass and wood chips. The sound is impressive, shattering the relative silence of the woodland and the reverberations of the explosion are enough to blast the glass from the door and adjacent windows.

He'd love to stay and watch what happens next but he's on the clock now. He really hopes McAlister and his men are already on their way out. With his shoulder, he forces the back door open. Open is a relative term. What he's actually done is splinter the wooden frame and rip the door from its hinges. He flings it to one side, no longer caring about the noise he's making.

He bursts through the doorway into the living area of the cabin, taking in the scene in a split second. Sometimes people think he's slow. Maybe it's his size or his taciturn nature but he's happy to play along with this impression. In fact, he can scan a situation in milliseconds and base his actions on what he can see and hear.

To an onlooker, it would appear he already knows who is where and, as he sees Hannibal turn to him as though he were expected, he throws the hand gun to the colonel while simultaneously swinging the assault rifle round his body and firing off a volley of warning shots above the heads of the occupants of the room.

He notes with grim satisfaction that every person in the room has hit the deck. Except Murdock but he's on the couch and out of harm's way so he'll take that. McAlister has a look of shocked rage on his face and BA thinks that might be a problem but Hannibal's armed now and, like a well oiled machine, the team can now slide into action like they always do.

As Hannibal rises to his feet, BA finally relaxes and takes the time to look properly at his team mates. Murdock is clearly not himself, but when is he ever? Face is still on the floor, seemingly unconscious but BA isn't convinced. He's seen the lieutenant pull this one before; he's very good at playing dead. Even as the thought cross his mind, Face opens his eyes and gives him a conspiratorial wink before closing his eyes again. BA doesn't think anyone else noticed.

He sweeps the rifle around the room again, just for good measure, before moving over to stand by Hannibal.

"Good work, sergeant," Hannibal says, a wide grin threatening to split his face. "I knew we could count on you."

"Did we win the bet, Colonel?" Murdock asks and BA isn't sure what they're talking about but he's relieved to pick out some lucidity in the question.

Hannibal nods, "We sure did, Captain. I told you we would."

* * *

Hannibal hears the explosion before he sees the debris flying across the front of the building, hears McAlister order his goons to check it out, watches as two of them hasten to carry out their orders. He tries to catch Murdock's eye, tries to get the message to him that BA is coming for them, but the pilot's gaze is fixed determinedly on Face.

There's no time to pander to his captain's current state of mind though as BA comes crashing through from the kitchen, a whirlwind of fury and relief. Hannibal automatically puts his hand out to catch the weapon he just knows is coming his way, feeling the situation turning, the balance of power shifting back to him.

As BA releases a barrage of bullets, he throws himself to floor. He knows it's a pointless exercise, BA's aim is excellent and there's no way he'd hit any of the team, but Hannibal uses the moment as an excuse to get closer to McAlister who has similarly ducked for cover. With the gun in his hand, Hannibal, rises, settling back into his rightful position as commanding officer, BA at his side.

A simple exchange with Murdock assures him that the captain is doing, if not well, at least okay. Turning away from him, he levels his gun at McAlister.

"Let's go back to my question," he says. "What do I get when I win?"

McAlister makes to stand but only makes it to his knees before Hannibal shakes his head and waves the gun at him.

"Uh-uh," he warns. "That's far enough."

"This changes nothing," McAlister hisses at Hannibal. "You're still not getting out of here alive."

"Oh, I think we are," Hannibal replies and turns to BA. "Find something to tie these sleazeballs up with," he orders and watches as BA slowly lowers his gun.

Just as the sergeant moves away, there's a ruckus from the front and McAlister's men barge back into the room, their own guns drawn. Hannibal is happy to see them freeze as they take in the scene before them, looking stupidly from McAlister on his knees, to Carson who has scooted back to the now overturned armchair.

"Drop your guns," Hannibal orders.

The men look at each other, then at McAlister who simply glares at the colonel. When no clarification is forthcoming from their leader they hesitate. BA growls and that appears to make up their minds for them. Their weapons clatter to the floor.

Hannibal steps over to the guns and kicks them out of reach, towards Murdock. He hopes the captain will come to his senses enough to arm himself but it seems Murdock is still fixated on Face. Inwardly, Hannibal sighs. He really needs Murdock. BA is powerful and determined but he's still only one man. Face is out cold and Hannibal is fighting the urge to protect his fallen soldier. Murdock is in trouble, physically and mentally but he's conscious and the colonel will take that over silent and still any day.

He's just about to issue another order to BA when all hell breaks loose.

* * *

Looking back, Face will say he knew exactly what was going to happen. In reality, he doesn't know what's going on, and he acts purely on impulse, on years of training taking over his mind and, to some extent, his body.

He hears Hannibal's instructions to McAlister's goons and BA's subsequent growl. He decides this is the perfect opportunity to regain consciousness and slowly opens his eyes. As he turns his head to the side he locks eyes with McAlister.

And then everything seems to happen at once.

McAlister launches himself at Face who moves with a speed that surprises even him. As he rolls out of reach, he can hear Hannibal shouting to BA. In his periphery vision he can see Carson rising from his position and hurling himself at the colonel. Rolling towards the couch, Face ignores the pain from the gunshot wound and the dullness in his head as he focuses on the gun sitting patiently beneath Murdock.

He's within a fingertip's length of reaching it when a hand clamps itself round his ankle and he's dragged along the floor, harsh carpet scraping along his torso, igniting a fire in his side that feels like Vesuvius itself is erupting.

He kicks out with all his strength, satisfied when his foot connects with soft tissue and he hears McAlister grunt in pain. His leg is released, falling to the floor with a solid thump. He scrabbles back toward the couch as best he can but McAlister's goons seem to have been startled out of their stupor. Two hands on his shoulders spin him round so he's lying on his back, looking up at faces full of blank obedience. On any other occasion he would laugh at them but right now they have the upper hand – literally.

He steels himself for the inevitable blows as he watches two fists being raised. He lifts his own arms to ward off the descending punches and twists his body as best he can. If he squirms he reckons he can dislodge at least one hand from his shoulder.

As the first fist comes crashing down towards his face, he fends it off with his forearm. The resulting connection of limbs resonates down to his shoulder and up to his fingers. His hand feels numb but the strength he's felt in that blow tells him he can't relax. There may be no finesse in his opponents' methods but there is a force he needs to reckon with.

Ignoring the pain in his side and his arm, he lashes out with his good arm, managing to wrap his hand round a thick wrist. He yanks sharply, twisting as much as he can to one side. The man he's attached himself to is taken by surprise and loses his balance, falling forward. Face suddenly wonders if he's miscalculated as the man hovers above him, their eyes meeting long enough for the lieutenant to see the panic and then the man disappears on the end of a strong, bejewelled hand.

Enjoying the respite, knowing BA is there, Face turns his attention back to the second attacker, just as a fist flies towards his face. His reactions are a little slow and although he pulls his head to one side, he can feel knuckles connecting with his cheekbone. There's a brief flash of light and there seem to be two of everything for a few seconds.

Forcing himself to focus, he shakes his head and looks up just in time to two hands this time. He raises both his hands to defend his face but the hands grasp his collar and instead of attacking him with punches, he feels himself hauled up off the floor from the waist.

He steels himself for the incoming blow when he hears the hammer of a gun being pulled back and McAlister laughing.

"Looks like I win after all, Smith," he says and Face turns his head just far enough to see McAlister holding Murdock upright with with one arm round his neck, the other holding a gun to the pilot's head.

* * *

In the deepest recess of his mind, the place he retreats to when all else is going to pot, Murdock is a military man. It's the order he craves. He doesn't understand it, never will, but when the situation calls for it, when the plan has gone out the window in spectacular fashion, his body takes over from his mind. It's just as well really and it's saved him and his team more times than he knows.

So when he sees Face open his eyes, even though his head is urging him to check out his friend, his body takes its own course of action. He does his calculations carefully and quickly. Two men returned from trying to find the cause of the explosion, two men standing guard behind him, McAlister on his knees by Hannibal and Carson looking unsure of himself and the situation.

He rises from his seat and in one graceful movement leaps over the back of the couch, taking his guards by surprise. Before either of them can react, he's delivered two swift punches, one to the head of the man to his right and one to the stomach of the man on his left. Maybe it was a lucky blow, or maybe there's a glass jaw at play, but the man on his right falls to the ground and doesn't get back up again.

Taking a pause to review the team's position, Murdock spares a second to glance behind him. Hannibal and Carson are locked in combat and Murdock can't tell who's winning at the moment but it looks close. Face is under attack from McAlister's goons but as the pilot sways between finishing off his opponent or going to Face's aid, BA intervenes so he turns his attention back to his own fight.

He's just a little too late to avoid the uppercut that catches him under the chin, snapping his head back and depriving of him of his upright status. He hits the floor hard, elbow striking the back of the couch and from the agony that invokes he's pretty sure something somewhere has snapped. On the plus side, he muses, it's slowed his fall so when the back of his head meets the ground it's not as bad as it could have been. Sure, there are lots of pretty, twinkling lights swirling around and the breath is gone from his lungs. But he's still conscious and he'll take that as a win.

Almost as soon as that thought enters his head, and acting on instinct more than anything, he rolls away, towards the back of the room. A hand grabs the back of his jacket, in the middle of his shoulder blades, and halts any hope of escape. Knees on the back of his thighs dig deep and hard. Murdock knows he should breathe through the pain – he's been here before – but all that happens is the air in his lungs escapes as one pained gasp.

A hand snakes its way round his neck and he's helpless to do anything other than rise to his feet, feeling a hard, solid presence behind him, pulling him back. He stumbles, desperate to keep his balance, knowing if he loses that, the unforgiving arm round his throat will cut off the little air he still has access to.

He's turned round till he can see the rest of the room, the rest of his team, and then he feels the unmistakable kiss of metal as the barrel of a gun rests gently against his temple.

He closes his eyes as McAlister's voice taunts Hannibal from behind his ear.

"Looks like I win after all, Smith."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

It could be a painting or freeze frame from the latest action movie. McAlister tightens his hold round Murdock's neck, taking a grim satisfaction from the sharp intake of breath it provokes from not only his captive but also the big bejewelled man dangling one of his men from his hand like a ragdoll.

"Drop your weapons," he orders, although he makes it sound like a suggestion. He's pretty sure he's got the winning hand now. These men won't risk anything happening to their teammate, they've already proved that. It wasn't just opportunity that gave McAlister this particular hostage. They've danced this dance before, the pilot and him, and the team dropped everything to come for him. He can see no reason why they won't do that again.

He tilts his head to one side and watches the remaining three members of the A-Team exchange looks. He knows what chain of command looks like and this is a classic example. They all look to Murdock then to Smith. There's a slight hesitation and McAlister jabs his gun against Murdock's cheek, eliciting a gasp from his captive.

"I _will_ shoot him, Smith," he tells the colonel. "It's your choice."

Smith nods and McAlister can almost feel the defeat washing over the team as the two armed men lower their weapons. He hears a dull thud as Face is dropped unceremoniously back to the floor and watches as Carson collects the guns, moving to BA to remove the extra arsenal from about his person. McAlister is impressed by how many knives and guns the man has concealed about him and he wonders briefly if he can persuade the man to switch sides, he would be quite an asset.

But then he looks at him properly and decides that with that brute strength comes a fierce loyalty to his team. The glare coming in his direction is full of hatred and promises of retribution. Too bad he won't live long enough to fulfil them.

"Here's how it's going to go, Smith," McAlister starts, ignoring the fact that the body he's holding up is becoming increasingly limp. "Seems to me we're back to square one. You have my money, I have your man," and he gives the pilot a little shake to emphasise his point. "You're going to tell me where you stashed it. I'm going to send Carson to get it and when he gets back, we can end this."

He watches as Smith digests the proposition. He knows the man doesn't want to give up, has a level of pride that he can admire but he also knows he's in the strongest position. There's something about this group of men that transcends teamwork. There's a far stronger bond and McAlister is willing to bet they'll do anything to protect each other. They're a little bit like the Three Musketeers, one for all and all that.

It's with satisfaction that he acknowledges Smith's reluctant nod.

"Okay," the colonel says and the reluctance in the single word is palpable. "You win."

* * *

BA seethes. There's no other word for it.

As Carson divests him of his firearms and blades BA finds he doesn't really care about the lack of weaponry. He understands why Hannibal is capitulating, Murdock's safety is paramount, but if McAlister truly thinks he's won, he's got another thing coming. Does the guy really think they'll let this go? If he so much as scratches Murdock, BA will personally tear him limb from limb and he won't need any weapons to do it.

He fires a glance at Hannibal and catches his eye. There's so much said in that silent exchange, something McAlister will never understand and will never be expecting. As one, they turn to Face, still lying on the floor.

BA's concerned, but not surprised, to see the lieutenant's wound has reopened, fresh blood seeping through his fingers where he's trying to staunch the flow with his hand. Face isn't looking at them though; his attention is elsewhere but BA can't work out what's caught his attention. The wounded man doesn't appear to be watching Murdock although he's looking in that general direction. His eyes seem to be drawn to the floor. BA wonders if he's really focussed on anything or whether he's suffering more than he's letting on.

He returns his attention to Hannibal who doesn't appear to be concerned with Face's current condition. BA takes some solace from that – maybe he's seen what Face is looking at – and turns his glare back to McAlister. As his eyes pass Murdock, he nods so slightly he doubts whether the pilot has even seen it or taken the silent support that BA is offering.

"Your man won't find it on his own," Hannibal says. "One of us will need to go with him."

BA knows this is a lie. Hannibal wants to divide and conquer – it's one of his favourite techniques. It doesn't always work and from the look on Murdock's face, he can tell the pilot is thinking the same thing. Sometimes, BA thinks, they really should just stick together.

It seems McAlister is thinking along the same lines. He just laughs and BA grimaces as the arm round Murdock's neck seems to get just a little bit tighter. The pilot looks like he's on the verge of a full on panic attack. BA tries not to imagine what's going on in his mind right now.

"Really, Smith?" McAlister asks. "Does that line ever work?"

No, thinks BA, it never does but it doesn't seem to stop Hannibal. He wonders what the colonel is going to try next to separate McAlister's goons.

"Worth a try," Hannibal smirks and BA really, _really_ , wants him to just stop now. Face is still concentrating on the floor and Murdock is looking more and more pale by the second. Somehow they need to get the pilot free, even if it means losing their own limited freedom.

"Hey, sucka," BA bursts out, unable to contain himself any longer. "Pick on someone your own size!"

McAlister turns to face him, pulling a ragged Murdock round with him. "Like you?" he asks.

"Yeah. Come and try it on with me, then we'll see who the big man is."

"Easy, sergeant," Hannibal cautions as BA takes an involuntary step towards McAlister and Murdock.

"I'm done with talking," he responds, not taking his eyes off McAlister.

"BA, no." Murdock's voice is hoarse and barely there but it's loud enough to stop the big man in his tracks. He locks eyes with the pilot who flicks his gaze down to Face and then back up to BA. "It's okay, big guy," he continues. "I got this."

* * *

Hannibal rarely feels helpless. His team is well trained, tough and resilient. The only time he feels like this is when he can't protect his men. Right now Murdock is more vulnerable than he's seen him for a long time. BA is a simmering hotpot of rage and unpredictability and Face seems to have zoned out completely.

Outwardly he's the poster boy for calm assurance; inwardly his guts have turned to ice, his blood is pounding through his veins at a hundred miles an hour and his brain is racing to find an outcome whereby all his team walk out under their own steam.

He's not doing too well at the moment.

So when Murdock offers his own reassurance to BA, Hannibal wonders what he's seen that the colonel himself has missed. He saw the look the pilot threw at Face and all sorts of possibilities are flying through his head. Does Face have a plan? He wishes the lieutenant would communicate it with him if he does. Being second in command doesn't mean don't bother reporting to your CO.

But Murdock's words stopped BA and usually they have the opposite effect. It's fair to say that BA and Murdock have a complicated relationship. They fight and bicker like children; they wind each other up and the consequences range from the sublime to the ridiculous. But there's no doubt they love each other and would die for each other in an instant. So whatever message Murdock is passing to BA, Hannibal is going to assume it's positive.

McAlister doesn't appear to appreciate Murdock and BA's brief conversation and Hannibal winces in sympathy as he yanks his arm up under the pilot's chin, forcing his head back. The colonel can feel the tension in the room rising and knows he needs to do something to diffuse it, either by lightening the atmosphere or by bringing it to a head.

He opts for distraction.

"Face?" he drawls. "How you doing?"

Face appears to snap out of whatever trance he's been in and turns his head to Hannibal. He looks battered and Hannibal knows that cheekbone is going to show one hell of a bruise in the morning. His lieutenant is a good conman but he can't hide much from Hannibal and his face is showing all kinds of pain.

"I'm good, colonel," the younger man lies. Hannibal's pretty sure he knows he can see through the lie but he plays along anyway. "I take it you have a plan?"

Hannibal laughs and nods, even though he doesn't.

* * *

Murdock's beginning to feel more and more like a ragdoll. Every time someone talks to McAlister, he turns to face them and drags him around with him. He's fairly sure you shouldn't lead someone round by the neck but there are times when he doesn't really know much at all so he could be wrong.

But it hurts and that really shouldn't be happening.

He hates that he's the cause of the defeat pervading the cabin. He wishes he could tell Hannibal to go ahead and finish off the gang. They're going to kill him whatever happens, of that he's certain. From this position it could be a bullet through his brain or a snapped neck; McAlister is capable of both. If Hannibal acts now, they can save themselves. He's just collateral damage and although this isn't the way he thought he'd go out – he'd always imagined he'd go out in ball of flames, engulfed in a dying aircraft – at least it's not going to be an uneventful death.

He doesn't want Face to blame himself. He can see that happening already in his friend's vacant expression and lack of movement. He knows Face's ability to push himself to the limits of his endurance under duress, which this certainly is, but all Murdock can sense is apathy, although he's the first to admit he's a little off kilter right now.

McAlister is stepping backwards and it's as much as Murdock can to do allow himself to be dragged back with him and stay on his feet. He locks eyes with Hannibal who is watching them with a look of faint concern. That worries the captain as he's seen that look before, just before a plan comes crashing around their ears. Usually though, he's not in such a sticky situation.

"I'm getting tired, Smith," McAlister warns as he pulls Murdock round the couch until they're standing just feet away from the colonel. Murdock can feel his captor tensing and he's not too proud to admit he's beginning to feel just a little bit scared.

"You'll get your money," the colonel replies, not breaking eye contact with Murdock. "But I'm telling you, one of us has to go with you."

"No." There's a finality in that one word that Murdock recognises. BA uses it frequently when he wants to bring Billy on a mission, or when they need to fly anywhere. He wonders if Hannibal or Face have any sleeping darts on them – that would save a whole heap of trouble.

"No?" Murdock frowns at Hannibal's reply. What does that even mean? Why is Hannibal taunting this man who quite literally holds his life in his hands.

"Um, colonel?" he croaks, brow creased, head beginning to pound in rhythm with the blood in his veins.

But Hannibal doesn't reply. He just looks towards Face and nods once.

* * *

Face is transfixed by the sight of that oh so beautiful firearm lying peacefully below the couch. No-one is paying any attention to him but he needs to time this just right. The odds are still far from in their favour but he knows if he can just get his hands on that gun, he can take out McAlister. He is, after all, the best shot on the team, one of the best who made it out of Vietnam. When he holds a gun, it becomes part of him. It's not a part he's always proud of but he won't deny it either. Just as Murdock can fly any aircraft, he can shoot any firearm.

He's aware the focus of attention is away from him and on to the other three members of his team. Ordinarily he would be jumping up and down trying to be in the middle of things, trying to give Hannibal space to think, BA time to concoct some wondrous machinery, Murdock time to jump into the nearest plane to whisk them away. But right now it suits him just fine to be ignored.

He gauges the distance from the end of his arm to the butt of the gun. He can't reach it without moving his entire body along the floor, which is going to hurt no end. He wonders whether he should edge forward in miniscule increments or whether speed and surprise are going to be his friends.

If he goes with speed, he realises, he can't do it from his current prone position. That means he's going to have to make his move in one fluid movement, there will be no time for hesitation. Once he starts, all eyes – and guns – are going to be on him. He can't tell Hannibal and BA what he's planning but he reckons they'll know. If he pulls it off, he'll have that gun in his hand in less than five seconds. If he doesn't pull it off, it won't matter because he'll be dead.

Taking a deep breath, he readies himself for action. He bunches his muscles tight in preparation for what he's about to do and is seconds away from launching himself forward when Hannibal's voice interrupts his concentration.

"I'm good, colonel," he replies in answer to the question. Knowing everybody is probably looking at him now, just when he doesn't want it, he tries to deflect the attention back to Hannibal. "I take it you have a plan?"

Hannibal nods and lets out a small laugh. Face is sure there's no plan but that doesn't matter. The colonel has taken the floor again and Face lets it all fade out. He centres himself as best he can, taking stock of what hurts the most. The gunshot wound is bad, but bearable; the bruise on his leg is painful but he can ignore it, he's had worse playing baseball; the residue of McAlister's fist on his cheekbone is throbbing but again, he can isolate it and work round it easily enough.

As he listens to a futile, and frankly ludicrous, exchange between Hannibal and McAlister, he decides it's now or never.

In one smooth movement, one he'll look back on with pride and not a little incredulity, he pushes himself to his knees and throws himself at the couch, arms stretching out in front of him. The wound in his side is screaming and he's probably bleeding again, he thinks, but his fingers wrap themselves securely round the handle of the gun.

Rolling onto his back, bringing his arm up, steady as a rock, he points it directly at McAlister. The silence in the room as he narrows his eyes at his target is deafening. Time slows down and he knows without a shadow of a doubt this is what it has all come down to. His finger tightens on the trigger, there's only him, McAlister and Murdock in existence, and he can end it now, he _has_ to end it now.

But McAlister has positioned Murdock in such a way that whilst he has a shot, it's not a clear shot. His eyes flicker to Murdock who nods and lets a sad smile cross his face.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

If Hannibal is surprised by Face's action, he doesn't show it. He's good at covering up his emotions. He spins round to look at his lieutenant, really look at him. He didn't know there was a gun under the couch and he makes a mental note to congratulate the kid when this is all over.

Thing is, he can see the shot isn't clear. There's no way Murdock is going to come out of this unscathed from here. And Face will never be able to live with himself if the pilot gets caught in the cross fire. Which he will.

The commanding officer in him fights with the existing priorities. If McAlister is allowed to continue, chances are none of them are getting out of this one alive; he may as well pull the trigger on his team himself. If Face fires, takes out McAlister, chances are Murdock's going down too. That poses way too many problems. Aside from the obvious, Face will spend the rest of his life regretting it.

But the problem is the military man inside all of them. Out of the corner of his eye he can see BA frozen to the spot, eyes darting from Face to Murdock to McAlister and back to Face. Hannibal decides he can't let this happen and he can stop it with one word.

"Face," he says and is relieved when his lieutenant's grip on the gun lessens slightly.

"Colonel?" comes the reply.

Face's voice is steadier than Hannibal was expecting. The man is hurt, tired and emotionally on edge but underneath it all he's a soldier, a sniper no less, and his training has been exemplary. But he's also a loyal and devoted friend. He won't hurt Murdock. Hannibal knows he'd rather shoot himself than his buddy.

"Do you have the shot?" Hannibal asks, hoping against hope that from Face's angle the shot is clear. He knows it's not the second he asks it and Face shakes his head ever so slightly. It's such a tiny movement Hannibal is sure that none of McAlister's goons will have picked up on it. BA and Murdock will have seen it without a doubt.

He looks to Murdock and sees that sad smile on his pilot's lips. He knows what the captain is thinking and he needs to nip this in the bud immediately. No way is he going to sacrifice himself for the sake of the team. Hannibal has had this discussion with him countless times, in the jungles of Vietnam, and he worries for a second that Murdock may be back there.

Behind Murdock, McAlister is staring at the gun pointing in his direction. Hannibal watches as he moves his own gun from Murdock's head until his arm is straight, his own aim not quite as steady as Face's but just as accurate at this range.

"Drop your gun," he orders, Face quite clearly in his sights.

Hannibal can't help but feel pride when his lieutenant just smiles, that cold smile he brings out on occasions like this, and replies, "You drop yours."

* * *

BA just knew it! There's no way Face was going to just roll over and give in. His counter command to McAlister just proves it. In other circumstances the sergeant would have rejoiced in this turn about but he's got a clear view of McAlister and Murdock.

While McAlister seems to be in control still, just, Murdock appears to have lost the will to fight. BA has no intention of letting the fool give up. Not now. Not when they're so close to ending this.

He takes the opportunity to check out the rest of McAlister's gang, trusting Hannibal to manage the situation with Face and Murdock. He knows that when Face finally makes his move, because he has no doubt he _will_ make his move, there won't be much time to finish off the others.

Carson is standing ramrod straight. BA guesses he hasn't seen his boss threatened like this before. In fact, BA suspects it's never happened before. McAlister doesn't strike him as the type of man to tolerate this kind of behaviour from others without exacting his own retribution. Carson, BA decides, is going to be his prime target.

He doesn't think he's going to be able to rely on Murdock to help with the others. Chances are, when Face is finished with McAlister, he'll be able to disable at least two of them. Hannibal will be able to deal with the others easily enough – they're untrained, undisciplined and unprepared for the hell that the A-Team will unleash on them.

He spares a few seconds to check out Hannibal's position. He's still concentrating on his lieutenant, who in turn seems to be doing his best to antagonise McAlister with words. BA knows what Face is doing. The conman does his best, and worst, work with his mouth. BA hopes he won't take this one too far – Murdock can't afford him that luxury.

As Face tells McAlister exactly what a bullet will do to him at this range, Hannibal glances across to BA. The sergeant nods his head in Carson's direction, letting the colonel know his intentions. Hannibal sweeps his eyes over the cabin's interior and nods his agreement to the silent plan of action he and BA have just devised.

For the first time, BA allows himself to feel a modicum of optimism.

* * *

It's like an out of body experience. Murdock can feel McAlister's arm round his neck, he can feel his breath passing over his ear and he can sense how taut and rigid the man has become. But he can see Hannibal and BA exchanging looks and promises, and he can see Face lying on the ground, arm outstretched, hand morphing into a lethal weapon.

Yet he's not worried anymore. He listens as Face describes how the bullet will enter McAlister's head at about 2500 feet per second, how he'll probably feel it before he hears it, how it will shatter his skull and enter his brain, stopping all life functions instantly.

He can see McAlister's own gun wavering and wonders if words will be enough to stop him. It's still pointed at Face but Murdock is convinced Face will read the signs and be the first one to pull the trigger if push comes to shove.

He doesn't feel scared any more. He knows Face won't be able to make the shot cleanly but the options are limited. If McAlister doesn't surrender, which is highly unlikely, then the lieutenant is going have no choice in the matter. He'll have to take it, regardless.

Murdock doubts Face will kill him but he has no doubt that McAlister will, given half a chance.

He can feel the instant McAlister makes his decision, watches as if from afar as the man retracts his arm, bringing the gun back to it's former position at his head and he feels the vibrations running through his body as he begins to pull on the trigger.

He looks at Face, eyes meeting for a split second that seems a lifetime but is nowhere long enough to convey everything Murdock wants his buddy to know, before Face makes the final decision. As Murdock watches those long fingers contract around the trigger, he lets his whole body go limp, forcing McAlister to either drop him or take his full weight. It's the only thing he can think of to do to help Face.

* * *

The time for words is over. There is nothing left to say. Face has tried his best to diffuse this without resorting to violence but sometimes his best efforts just aren't enough.

While McAlister's gun was in his direction, Murdock was relatively safe. Now though, the balance has shifted again. McAlister is reverting to his original plan and the gun now at his best friend's head is the deciding factor in what Face will do next.

He allows himself the luxury of a split second glance at Murdock. Their eyes lock and for a while time stands still. There's so much being said in the depths of those brown eyes. Face can see their friendship written all over Murdock's face. In his eyes he can see trust, resignation and acceptance.

And, as McAlister tightens his fingers on the trigger, permission.

Time has run out.

He takes the shot.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Three weeks.

It's been three weeks since Face took the shot.

It's been three weeks since BA snapped Carson's neck like a twig.

It's been three weeks since they last heard Murdock laugh and joke around.

It's been three weeks that Hannibal has spent trying to put his team back together.

* * *

BA's a surprisingly sensitive man. He feels things more deeply than he generally lets on and even then only to a very few loved ones. His mama and his team. That's it.

When Face took the shot, when he saw Murdock fall, blood covering the side of his face, he snapped. Carson tried to run, but BA was faster and closer than either of them thought. He reached out with his left arm, snagged the back of Carson's collar and yanked him close, a parody of a lovers' embrace.

If he hadn't struggled quite so much, BA thinks, he might have just ended up in jail. But he had jammed his elbow back into BA's gut with surprising force, enough to make the big man temporarily lose his breath. BA had retaliated, making sure Carson knew it was a pointless exercise to resist. He cuffed him upside his head which seemed to slow him down but hadn't been enough to knock any sense in to the man.

If Carson had just kept his mouth shut, he might have just ended up in jail. But he apparently couldn't help himself. As he wriggled in BA's grip, he had turned his head towards McAlister and Murdock and laughed. BA hadn't seen anything funny in the situation and the sound of his adversary's laughter had been the final provocation.

BA's heard of the red mist but he'd never really thought it existed; even in the depths of the jungles of Vietnam at his lowest ebb it was only a myth, an excuse used by homicidal and deranged kids fighting in hell. He thinks differently now. Carson's laughter was the trigger and BA barely felt his arm snake round his neck, other hand gripping the top of his head tight. He doesn't remember exactly what he did next but when the red mist lifted, he had a limp, dead body in his arms.

Carson would never laugh at Murdock again.

He can't really recall what happened next. He knows Hannibal finished off two of the goons with precision, leaving them senseless on the ground to be trussed up like a Christmas turkey, one fled like the coward he clearly was, and Face floored the last one with a perfect knee shot. He thinks Hannibal must have dealt with the cleaning operation with his usual efficiency and they've been at this apartment ever since.

He looks over to the closed door leading from the living area where he's standing to the master bedroom. Hannibal had insisted Face take it but he'd refused. BA thinks it's because he can't stand to be alone with his thoughts and he can't blame him.

Face is sitting on the couch, physically in the same room as BA but as far away as he's ever been. BA knows he's wrestling with his guilt and he hesitates to intrude on that but the lieutenant has been staring out of the window for the best part of three weeks now and BA doesn't know much about mental health but he's pretty sure that's a bad sign.

Moving tentatively to sit next to him, BA rests a hand on his friend's shoulder, ignoring the complete lack of reaction.

"You had to do it, man," he says. He's told Face this over and over and over and he hopes soon the message will sink in. "Fool'd say the same thing and you know it."

He gives Face's shoulder a squeeze and when there's still no response, he sigh softly and moves to stand up. As he rises slowly to his feet, he see one single tear trail down Face's cheek and his heart breaks slightly.

* * *

The guilt is killing him. He knows BA and Hannibal don't blame him but now he thinks he shouldn't have taken that shot. It wasn't clear. It was never clear. Even for a sniper of his abilities, and he's never doubted those, it wasn't a clear shot. There was always going to be collateral damage. And the only person to get caught in the crossfire was Murdock.

He knew the second his finger pulled the trigger that he was just as surely shooting his best friend as McAlister. That last look from Murdock is imprinted on his brain. He'll never forget it. The forgiveness before he'd even done anything, the understanding, the silent acceptance. But it's the trust Murdock had shown him that cuts the deepest.

Murdock trusted him to do the right thing. At the time it hadn't crossed his mind that he wasn't doing the right thing. He acted on instinct, years and years of training. He had done it to save their captain but now, in the cold light of day, he doesn't think he should have done it.

He can't sleep so he doesn't even try. Hannibal tried to make him take the master bedroom, heal up and rest he'd been told. Thing is, every time he shuts his eyes, he sees Murdock's face. Sometimes he's sad, sometimes he's laughing at Face, sometimes he's thoughtful and sometimes, most of the time, he's covered in blood and grey matter.

So he stays in the living area where he's safe from the nightmares that come when he does drop off, exhausted beyond comprehension. He knows Hannibal and BA will wake him, won't let him get lost. He hears them talk to each other in muffled, concerned tones and it comforts him that there's still life but the one voice he longs to hear, the one that matters most, is conspicuously missing.

That soft, Texan drawl that he's become so accustomed to is absent. He longs to hear it, just a word or a burst of song, and the fact he won't is his fault. BA and Hannibal can tell him as many times as they like he had no other choice but he'll never believe them as he replays the scene over in his head.

He startles as the phone rings and is aware of Hannibal moving to pick it up, cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Face wonders vaguely if the colonel knows he's chewing it more vigorously than usual.

"Yes," Hannibal says, followed by a long pause. Face can feel him looking at him and keeps his own eyes studiously directed at the view out of the window.

He listens as Hannibal voices general 'okay' and 'I see' and 'when?' down the phone. It's the last one that grabs Face's attention enough to turn his head towards the colonel. He doesn't know what to make of his expression but he's looking directly back at him.

Hannibal puts the phone back in its cradle and takes the cigar from his mouth. Then he breaks out into a small but reassuring smile.

"Murdock's asking for you," he tells Face.

* * *

Hannibal smiles as he tells Face the good news but he's not expecting the reaction he gets from his lieutenant. The kid just sits there, staring blankly at him before slowly shaking his head.

"No." His lips are definitely moving but Hannibal can barely hear him.

"What'd you mean, 'no'?" he asks, confused. He was so sure this would be the news to break his lieutenant out of his catatonic state.

Face keeps shaking his head. "No," he repeats. "No. He doesn't. Why would he? I shot him. I nearly killed him. He doesn't want to see me. _I_ wouldn't want to see me. Why does _he_ want to see me?"

Hannibal frowns at the rising hysteria in the kid's voice. He's got up off the couch and is pacing up and down, not really looking at BA or himself. Hannibal looks at BA who is clearly just as confused as he is. The sergeant takes a step forward, blocking Face's path, bringing him to a halt with a hand on either shoulder.

"What you talking about?" he demands.

Hannibal watches from the side lines. He loves Face like a father and he really needs to be there for him but there are times when being in charge means taking a step back. BA's bluntness might just be what he needs to snap him out of this.

He watches as Face looks up at BA and silently rejoices. This is the most response they've got out of the lieutenant since the shooting. Face seems to flounder for words and Hannibal is just about to step in when BA pulls him into a bear hug and says,

"Wasn't your fault, Faceman. Ain't no-one gonna blame you for what happened, least of all that fool."

"He's right," Hannibal agrees, stepping forward and putting a paternal arm round what he can see of Face. "Now, Murdock's asking for you. Can you do this?" His voice doesn't hold any room for argument but Face shakes his head anyway.

Hannibal looks at BA who has lifted his head to watch the colonel over Face's shoulder. There's a silent question there and BA smiles sadly.

"Just give him a minute," he says, and loosens his hold on Face, who is shaking. Hannibal nods knowingly at BA and when the kid finally turns to face Hannibal, the colonel can see red rimmed eyes and tear trails.

"Okay?" he asks, softly, and when Face just about manages a nod he continues, "Stay here with BA. I'm going to fetch Murdock and then you two need to talk. Okay?"

* * *

The VA has never felt so safe so why does he feel so alone? Why does he feel as though something so important is missing? He's used to feeling incomplete but this is different.

He's been back here for a while. He doesn't know how long, time loses its meaning for him occasionally when there's nothing to look forward to. Dr Richter tells him its okay to not know, he tells him it's okay to live life according to his own timetable but there are blanks in his mind right now, more than the usual.

The first night back, the night Hannibal dropped him on the street out front and watched until the orderlies had taken him inside, he had no explanation as to where he'd been this time. There had been a long, confusing session with Dr Richter. They had both tried to work out where the stitches on his scalp had come from. Murdock was convinced he'd been attacked by an eagle for his baseball cap but the doctor kept asking him how he'd been shot.

He told Murdock the stitches are definitely the result of a bullet wound, and while he's at it, where did his patient get those bruises on his ribs and round his neck? Murdock didn't understand what he was talking about but apparently he's good at denying that which he simply doesn't want to deal with.

Eventually, Richter had shaken his head and had Murdock taken back to his room. Murdock thought the doc must be worried about him because the orderly locked the door and seemed to take up position outside.

Sleep hadn't come easily that first night. Or rather, it had but it didn't last. There were nightmares. Face with a gun, pointing at him, a hand at his throat, explosions, confusion, pain, and terror. He woke screaming, sweating and fighting the orderlies trying to restrain him.

The sedatives they gave him helped for a while but now they've stopped giving them to him and he's left to his own devices in his room. He's still confused, still doesn't really know how he got shot but he thinks it's something to do with that first nightmare.

Richter comes to see him every day, always asking the same question – how did you get shot? Murdock's starting to remember but he's not going to tell. He trusts Richter more than anyone outside of the team but the doctor still doesn't about his involvement in their missions and he's not going give that up at any cost.

He remembers McAlister throttling him, he remembers Face lying on the floor, gun steady and true, and he remembers embracing gravity to throw McAlister off balance. Then he has a vague recollection of pain, blood, something else covering his head and face. The floor was hard and there was a weight on top of him. He thinks that's probably when he lost consciousness because he doesn't remember anything else until Hannibal left him.

Stroking the top of Billy's head he wonders where Adam is. Adam's the orderly who talks to him in the evening, who watches the sunset with him and lets him talk about anything and everything. He thinks it strange the man hasn't been to welcome him back. Maybe Hannibal can clear that one up for him sometime.

Maybe Hannibal can clear it all up for him, but mostly he thinks he needs to talk to Face.

* * *

BA doesn't like this. Face is the one who scams Murdock out of the VA and the fool's only just gone back in. Surely Hannibal is going to raise some suspicions this soon. But he needs to stay with Face while the colonel works his own unique brand of magic.

There'd been little discussion after Face's breakdown. Both BA and Hannibal are relieved in a way that it's finally happened. Hannibal made the decision to bring Murdock to Face rather than the other way round, telling BA that it was safer for everyone that way. BA had to agree.

So here he is, hovering in the living area with a silent Face. He's unsure whether to say anything to break the silence but just as he's wondering where to start, Face sighs.

"Do you think he even knows what happened?" he asks the sergeant.

It's a good question, BA thinks. Murdock often doesn't know what's going on but then, just when it counts, he's as reliable and solid as any of them. Maybe he remembers, maybe he doesn't.

"Don't really matter," he tells Face who just looks up at him, confused.

"Think about it," BA says, really wishing Hannibal were here having this conversation instead of him. "If he don't know, he ain't hurting. If he does know, well, he's asking for you so he obviously don't care what happened to him."

He's quite pleased with his explanation. For a man of few words he finds people tend to listen when he does have something to say. Certainly Face seems to be thinking about it.

"Yeah," he mutters, "maybe, but what if…"

He's interrupted by the door of the apartment opening and BA offers up a silent 'thank you' when Hannibal appears in the doorway as if by magic, Murdock hovering behind him, almost reluctantly and BA wonders if this was such a good idea after all, wonders if these two are really ready to talk.

* * *

Face looks up as the door closes softly behind Murdock. Hannibal said they have to talk but he's not sure what to say, doesn't understand why the captain is so keen to see him after what happened. Murdock looks pale, more fragile than he's ever seemed before and yet Face can see an underlying strength that he wishes he had for himself.

Hannibal has moved past him and there's no avoiding it now. Murdock is looking right at him and Face can feel his heart pounding, trying to escape out of his chest. He smiles hesitantly at his best friend, unsure of the reception he's going to get.

"Murdock," he starts, before trailing off, worrying his lower lip with those perfect teeth of his. "Murdock," he tries again. "I'm so sorry."

He's not sure what he was expecting from Murdock but the pilot just stands there and tilts his head to one side.

"Aw, Faceman," he replies and Face can't believe how relieved he is to hear that soft drawl again. "It weren't your fault. You had to do it."

"But I nearly killed you," Face insists.

"And McAlister _would_ have killed me." Murdock moves forward until he's standing in Face's space. "You did what you had to do, and I'm real grateful for it."

Face reaches up and rests his hand on Murdock's cheek, just millimetres from the red, angry scar that starts at his hairline, disappearing under the ever present baseball cap. Murdock reaches up and covers his hand with his own.

"I'm okay," he whispers so quietly Face doubts BA and Hannibal can hear him. Leaning forward until their foreheads meet, Murdock asks "But are you?"

Face shakes his head slowly, confused. "What d'you mean?" he asks. "You're the one who got shot."

"Caught in the crossfire," Murdock counters. "You shot McAlister. I just didn't drop quick enough or low enough. That's not your fault."

"Murdock." Face doesn't know how to explain to this man in front of him who seems to have an infinite capacity for forgiveness. "I thought I'd killed you. When I took that shot… I knew… I knew I wasn't going to miss you. And I did it anyway."

"But you knew it wouldn't kill me," Murdock reassures him.

Face thinks about it. Murdock's right – he did know the shot wouldn't be fatal to his friend but the knowledge doesn't erase the image of his bullet hurtling towards the pilot, dislodging his cap and carving a groove through his hair, McAlister's head erupting in an explosion of blood and bone and grey matter, covering his friend as they both dropped to the ground like a stone, neither of them moving.

Murdock straightens up, and Face instantly mourns the lack of contact.

"I trust you, Facey," he's saying. "Always."

* * *

Hannibal watches the interaction between his lieutenant and his captain with pride. He looks to BA who is as transfixed as he is by the conversation. Face and BA have both taken a life, something they haven't done lightly and Hannibal knows they're both going to need to work through it in their own way.

But he knows they won't have to do it alone.

His team is healing.

They're not okay. But they will be.

* * *

THE END

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This has been a labour of love. It's not perfect and there are probably glaring plot holes along the way (and brownie points for anyone who spots the continuity error) and a few bits that could be tied up a bit better. However, I think you're all capable of filling those hole how you see fit and make this story a little bit your own too. Thank you to everyone who has read, followed, commented and enjoyed this story. To those guest reviewers I couldn't respond to - thank you.


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